Neon Cat Dad Hat Era

The vitamin D supplements stared back at me from my nightstand, a daily reminder that my mom literally thinks I'm a plant who needs artificial sunlight to survive. I grabbed the bottle, dry-swallowed two, and checked my reflection in the full-length mirror for the third time that morning.

Today was the day. The first day of sophomore year at Ridgefield High, and I was about to make a statement.

The hat sat on my head like a crown. Not just any hat — a vintage Detroit Tigers dad hat I'd thrifted for six dollars, the perfect amount of perfectly imperfect. It said: I'm chill, I've got taste, I'm not trying too hard (but lowkey, I was trying extremely hard).

"You're wearing that?" Maya appeared in my doorway, her cat S'mores trailing behind her like a fluffy shadow. S'mores immediately decided my bed was his new throne.

"Yeah. Why?" I adjusted the brim, trying to hit that sweet spot between cool and casual.

Maya shrugged, already scrolling through TikTok. "Just saying, it's giving... energy."

What does that even MEAN?

The walk to school felt eternal. Every car that passed might as well have been a spotlight. My heart did that thing where it forgets how to heart beat properly. I mentally ran through the vitamin D facts I'd read — deficiency causes fatigue, bone pain, depression. Great. Just what I needed.

First period AP Euro: I walked in and immediately clocked that nobody — literally NOBODY — was wearing hats. Like, AT ALL. I'd missed the memo that hats weren't cool anymore. Had they ever been cool? Was I about to become Hat Guy?

I slid into a desk in the back, keeping the hat firmly in place. If I took it off now, it would be A Thing. Keeping it on was also A Thing. I had successfully created a lose-lose situation by 7:47 AM.

Then Jackson Miller, who was inexplicably wearing Crocs with socks in November, caught my eye from across the room and gave me a chin nod. A CHIN NOD. The universal symbol of "I see you and I respect what you're doing."

Something shifted. The vitamin D-induced anxiety that had been doing laps in my chest settled into something manageable. Maybe Hat Guy wasn't the worst identity to try on for size. Maybe sophomore year wouldn't be completely terrible.

Or maybe I was just vitamin D deficient and delusional. Either way, I kept the hat on.