The fact of the matter is, most people judge a book by its cover, meaning they’re going to make assumptions about you by what you wear. Is it good? Probably not. Is it true? Probably so. We all know that clothing doesn’t change anything about a person—if you’re a jerk in a hat, you’re just a jerk in a hat; I’ve also met some of the finest people on the planet adorned in cargo shorts and a tank top. But if I’m a book that’s getting judged by its cover, I want a head start, which is why I’m a fan of a great hat.

If you know me at all, you know that I’m not talking about just any hat—I’m talking about the legendary Stetson Open Road. It’s not often I’ll wax poetic about an inanimate object, but get me going about this hat, and we’ll polish off a bottle well before I’m done. In fact, I love this hat so much that I sell my own custom version of it on this very site.

Before you think this is just a big sales pitch for the Open Road (okay, maybe a little), think of it more as a pitch for picking out your first impression with intention. I want to make an argument for why the perfect hat matters by exploring this one’s history, cultural significance, and what it represents to me. If that results in an Open Road for you, great. If it leads you toward another look, just as good, because the Stetson Open Road is my hat.

Here’s what I mean.

The State of Stetson

In the 1830s, John B. Stetson introduced the “Boss of the Plains” hat. A classic style that endures to this day, its fine-tuned curvature was the perfect option for riders on the high plains who craved streamlined shade that wouldn’t blow away in the wind. And that was the standard for years. Stetson introduced more and more hats—all geared towards those who lived life on the land, on the back of a horse, and needed to be ready for anything.

Let’s fast forward a bit to the 1930s. Stetson was still manufacturing the finest hats in America, but the 1830s version of America was wildly different from the 1930s version—one now fresh on the heels of the Industrial Revolution. The West had officially been tamed (as much as it could be), and westward expansion had taken root, blurring the lines between the frontier and the big city.

Stetson being Stetson, they decided to revolutionize their own look and also blur the lines by introducing the Open Road. They envisioned a hat that carried Western values and aesthetic, but could also be at home in offices and boardrooms from New York City and LA to every place in between.

The design of the Open Road was wholly unique at its introduction. The crown maintained a tall, cowboy-style structure at 4 ¼ inches with a classic cattleman’s creasing style. The brim, however, was shortened to just 2 ¾ inches to give it a more modern, streamlined look akin to the popular fedoras of the day. Top it off with a minimalist grosgrain ribbon band and a timeless Stetson crest, and you’ve got the birth of an icon in Western culture.

This hat single-handedly (single-headedly?) proved that someone with a Western spirit and attitude could be found anywhere—on the ranches of Texas, or running the entire country. Sometimes both, which offers us a perfect segue to the Open Road’s next era.

The Man Under the Hat

While the Open Road was popular across the country from day one, it blew through the roof of Western fashion when a few notable folks also made it “their hat.” I’m talking about two American presidents, of course. First, Harry S. Truman, who planted it firmly in the American landscape; next, Texas’s own Lyndon B. Johnson, who made it an American icon.

In fact, Johnson loved this hat so much that he’d order it in bulk from Stetson so that he could leave his hat to notable figures—and random strangers—as the best business card in the history of off-the-wall business cards. Known equally as a hardy Texas rancher and a refined dignitary and political figure, Johnson established the look of someone who could walk the line between Stetson’s Western values and a modern man. Dare I say, someone who was “all hat” and “all cattle.”

It’s easy to say that hats like the Open Road are a fad, but I wholeheartedly disagree. When something endures for nearly 100 years, with no signs of slowing, it becomes something more than a trend. Thanks to Truman and Johnson, it enters the Mount Rushmore of American fashion alongside blue jeans and boots, and it’s pretty tough to argue otherwise.

Own the Open Road

Here’s why I love the Open Road. It’s American. It’s Texan. It’s modern. It’s classic. It’s anything you want it to be, really, and that’s the most important thing I can say about a hat. There’s a saying that the best hat is the one you have on, which I think has two meanings. First, it’s important to wear the right hat for the right occasion, which I just pointed out isn’t much of a problem for the Open Road because it works just about everywhere.

The secondary meaning, though, is one that’s worth exploring. In my mind, the perfect hat compels someone into a state of confidence. If that sounds like a bullshit line, bear with me. It’s easy to throw on a ballcap and call it good because no one expects anything from a ballcap, and you’re probably not going to stand out in a crowd.

But when you put on a Hat-with-a-capital-H, you’re not hiding from anyone. Folks are going to notice, which means you can take two roads (no pun intended)—you can either be comfortable with that, or uncomfortable with that. To me, this saying implies that you can pull off any hat as long as you believe that you can pull off any hat. Every time I put on my Stetson, I’m taking a step out into the open and letting people know a few things: that, like my hat, I’m American, Texan, modern, and classic.

If I want you to take away anything from this ode to the Open Road, I want you to find “your hat.” I’ve found mine, and it comes standard with confidence and a good backstory. If you think yours might also be the Open Road, check out the custom version we offer in the LG Shop, shaped in the distinct style of yours truly. If it’s not for you, try something else. Go with a cowboy hat. Hell, go with a sombrero if you really want to test your confidence.

Point being, the right hat isn’t a signal of vanity. At least, it shouldn’t be. It’s merely a reflection of the person beneath it. Think of it this way—if people are going to read you like a book, you might as well control the narrative, and the perfect hat can do just that. My narrative begins the same way Texans have been writing their story since 1937, with the clean creases and classic conviction known as the Open Road.