The Enduring Appeal of the Baseball Cap

What’s the most iconic piece of American apparel? Jeans, you say? Good start. Or sneakers. Terrific answer as well. Can’t argue with either. I would add to those nominees the simple, supple, super-versatile baseball cap.

Although the start of spring training is still weeks away, the modern baseball cap — almost 80 years into its life cycle, and for much of that time strictly associated with the game — long ago became a sort of free agent in the rags trade. Today, caps are barely emblematic of athletics in any form. They’ve become ubiquitous as a fashion accessory because they are both functional and stylish. A brasher beret, if you will; they brim with personality.

We appreciate ball caps in all their varietal splendor for myriad reasons. Baldies adore them because, well, obviously. Given that most caps prominently feature a message or logo, they are also endlessly expressive in the way few other articles of clothing dare to be. It helps too that they are inexpensive, relatively speaking — unless you’re an overcompensated recording artist, say, or simply a fool willing to part with $775 for a Prada-branded product. (Seriously.)

In an age of bitter political and social divisions, it’s nice to see that gender, race, religion, and country of origin barely play a role in the world of casual headwear. Seems we can all get along, cap-wise. President Trump seldom ventures far without one of his MAGA caps, which make a polarizing political statement, to be sure. Pope Leo, on the other hand, even as he calls for gentler rhetoric from Washington, not long ago tried on a baseball cap for a photo op. That pretty much evens us up in the World Leaders Donning Ball Caps category, I’d say.

Adding to its appeal is that you can confidently dress up or down with a cap. Wear one to a quick CVS run, or select a structured model to finish off a sharp ensemble for a night out. This mostly earns a “Sure, go boldly forth” from fashion critics. (A caution: Pairing a cap with formal attire remains foul territory.) If you’re aiming for a reverse-snob persona, you may want to grab a roughed-up cap, even if you have to beat the crap out of it yourself. Moguls, I’ve learned, regard these as a sign of power.

It’s possible, though challenging, to find a classic lid unadorned by any message, not even its own branding. Most, though, serve as billboards for your favorite beverage, cat breed, city, truck, fishing hole, charitable cause, highway, or lifestyle. More than anything, that likely accounts for their ­increase in popularity since the turn of the century. Fundamentally, these are advertisements perched immediately above your brain to announce who that brain thinks you are.

But you can do even better. Custom-­ordered baseball caps, as opposed to store-bought versions, provide unambiguous insight into whatever’s on your mind at the moment. Thirty bucks will get you a cap with a personalized message embroidered front and center. The best one I recently spotted confessed I PEE IN THE LAKE.

My own caps — I generally keep about a dozen in rotation (see reference to balding men, above) — show an affinity for everything from TV series to sports cars. Nothing too ballsy. But each one is a little peek into … me. (Which is kind of frightening, but cool.) Insofar as contemporary, everyday fashion goes, I suppose we should rule that a home run.

In the last issue, Cable Neuhaus wrote about the benefits of making time to do nothing.

This article is featured in the November/Decemberr 2025 issue of The Saturday Evening Post. Subscribe to the magazine for more art, inspiring stories, fiction, humor, and features from our archives.