I love hats. I come from and married into hat families. My mother wears berets. My father wears baseball caps. My mother-in-law wears hats all year round. I grew up wearing hats. In grammar school I wore stocking caps to skate at the lagoon. In junior high school I wore John Lennon caps to Nichols. In college, I wore floppy hippie hats like Janis Joplin. As an adult, I have a collection of hats. I love hats but I don't always have the courage to wear them.

First of all, you have to be in a certain mood to wear a hat. You make an entrance wearing a hat. People notice you. If you're in a wallflower sort of mood, you don't wear a hat. You pull up your hood instead.

The second reason is, if you wear a hat, you pay the price. Sure, when you make your entrance, you have that moment of glory. You feel great. If you're wearing an elegant hat, you feel romantic and feminine. Your hair - wispy little tendrils poking out, a soft curl here or there - is perfect. You feel like Ingrid Bergman. Under a cloche, you're Ali McGraw. In a beret, you're Faye Dunaway. In a fleece baseball cap, you're a model. You could be waving from a ski lift in a travel poster. Who cares what your hair looks like underneath? You're thin, rosy-cheeked and gorgeous.

Then there's that other moment. At some point, you have to take your hat off. You know what's coming. Any woman who has ever worn a hat knows what I'm talking about. "Hat Hair."

That's right. Hat hair. Flat hair. Drowned rat hair.

No longer do you feel like a movie star or model. Your hair is sticking to your head. It's damp. If it started out wavy, it's straight. If it started out curly, it's frizzy. You long to put your hat back on, but it's too darn hot indoors. Hat hair can be a year-round phenomenon, but it's much worse in the winter.

In the summer, my mother-in-law wears straw hats when she drives around in her convertible. I wear a Beatles hat when I run and a Panama when I garden. In the summer, you typically don't wear hats to important events. But in the winter, you wear hats to go out on the town. You wear hats to plays, parties, and out to dinner. Unfortunately your entrance, though it may be your favorite part of the evening, is over all too quickly. You have to spend the rest of the important event with hat hair.

So what's a woman to do? You could carry a small arsenal of styling equipment in your purse: blow dryer, curling iron, round brush, and gel. But then there's the "Purse Problem." Important events demand small, refined clutches, not gigantic tote bags.

My mother-in-law always makes an announcement before she removes her hat. "Did everyone see my hat?" she says. I like that. I've started to imitate her. Not only do you make sure your hat was appreciated, but you let everyone know why your hair looks funny.

I guess hat hair's just another side effect of winter, worse than cold toes, but not nearly as bad as shoveling out your car. Look on the bright side; soon it will be spring. We can put away our winter hats. Before you know it, it will be summer, and all we'll have to worry about is bathing cap hair.