I do not wish to reinforce negative stereotypes of the Chinese, but it is a fact that no matter what kind of hat I put on, I look like a fisherman.

I first discovered this phenomenon in high school when, on a shopping spree with friends, I put on a baseball cap backwards in an earnest attempt to look gangsta. In the mirror, I hoped to see myself spittin’ rhymes in front of an audience eager to throw me their lingerie. Instead, what I witnessed were waves several feet tall, slamming against my ship as my crew mates tumbled across the deck.

Other times I have been slightly more successful. For a costume party in college, I had put on a cowboy hat in hopes of looking like a manly cowboy ready to reel in his herd. I was ecstatic when I looked in the mirror and saw the scorching backdrop of a desert, the air distorted by the heat. My heart sank only when I saw my herd. My cows flopped on the ground, as if out of breath. Through holes in their fur, the sight of wet scales was unmistakable. They were only fish in disguise.

This is unfortunate. Sometimes, like when a party drags on into the early morning, I would like to be able to put on a trendy cap and look like the cool dude who outlasted all his buddies in a 7-hour chugging contest, not the man who is awake at 6AM because that is the best time to catch cod.

So it seems that perhaps for the same reason I could never be a 13-year-old ballerina, I was never meant to put on hats. Ironically, the one hat I have yet to try is an actual fisherman’s hat, but I don’t think I ever will. I’m worried the moment I put one on and look at myself in the mirror, I realize that is the exact point in which all my possible fates in all the possible alternate universes converge, and I may never be able to take it off.