We think it’s because Dad wore them to work everyday. Or maybe it was Cary Grant sporting a bowler in The Awful Truth. Fred Astaire in, of course, Top Hat. Bogart squinting from under a fedora in The Big Sleep. The mystery, the fantasy, the dress-up of hats suggesting a whole world that you want to be part of.

Hats are stylish. Hats reveal character. Conceal flaws. And who doesn’t have a few?

But since our brand mark is “many hats” as in, many talents, many services or functions, we thought you might be interested in knowing more about the ones we’ve chosen to define our identity.

The Boater

Defines crisp. The perfect affect for a leisurely day paddling on the pond or an afternoon betting on thoroughbreds. Not showy, but confident. More “smart” than stylish. Simply dashing.

Think of Churchill. Waiting for Godot. Magritte. Lena Olin in The Unbearable Lightness of Being. (Now, quick-try and think of anything else.) The Bowler says, “I’m feeling somewhat snappy today.” In fact, we defy you to wear one without some total stranger walking up to you and telling you how dapper you look. Worn by working class Americans and crusty Brits on their way to tea. Classic.

The Fedora

Snappin’! The fedora is an international classic. Fellini made a movie out of it. Bogie a career. In fact, film noir might never have existed without this unique shape. Perhaps the best hat you can wear if you have a secret. And want to keep it.

The Diplomat

If we actually wore hats around here, all the account executives would wear this one. It’s the proper look for an ambassador. It says: “I have extremely important papers in this attaché. Along with a bologna sandwich. Please let me through. Or prepare to suffer the consequences.”

The Bonnie Lass

In John Ford’s brilliant valentine to Ireland, The Quiet Man, Maureen O’Hara ties her straw hat and its billowing yellow scarf to the winner’s post at the end of a raucous horse race. When Sean Thornton—John Wayne, of course—rides right by without snapping it up, it seemed as if all Ireland might cry. Our simpler model is nod to lost love.

The Top Hat

No other term works: The Big Cheese just doesn’t cut it. The Big Kahuna, too fishy. Top Dog, too drooly. You get the picture. Top Hat is forever first class. The upper crust. Fred Astaire’s worldly joie de vivre. It’s the only hat you must earn the right to wear. And live up to.