My lifelong obsession with hats began at 8 years old. My parents had recently purchased a run-down Victorian era home as an estate sale with the intention of renovating it themselves. We spent weeks going through the belongings of the previous owners whose family had been there for 2 generations. In a dusty corner of the attic was a large, ornate, gold-embellished hat box with a wide-brimmed fedora in pristine condition. This was the early 90s and Indiana Jones was both my hero and my crush. This hat was a Knox and not Harrison Ford's signature brown Stetson, but it was close enough for my imagination. I spent countless afternoons pretending to hunt for treasure through exotic landscapes, constantly pushing up the oversized fedora from falling over my eyes. I can still remember the way the smooth beaver fur felt and the musty odor from the already 40 year old paper lining of its box. 

Then, like all kids, I grew up. My family sold the house when I went away to college, long after all traces of the previous family had been gone. I had other interests than being a professor-turned-treasure hunter. After school I moved from New York to Los Angeles and spent 20 years building a career in advertising. I still loved hats but with the exception of a small stint in the early 2000's where cheap fedoras made a comeback, I didn't think I had the occasion to pull one off. I was a city girl at heart with an all black wardrobe.

In the fall of 2020, I decided it was time for a change. I left my life in Los Angeles for Paso Robles trading big-city energy for small town comfort and simplicity. Getting to know a place and its people is tough, particularly during a pandemic. But just being amongst the beautiful landscape and ag-centered culture felt good. And hey, no one here would blink if I were wearing a western-style fedora...

Fast forward, I was in Las Vegas for a business trip and as was my tradition, I stopped into Kemo Sabe to torture myself with hats I would fall in love with but were out of my price range. I spent 30 minutes admiring myself in a beautiful Stetson (not so different from Indiana's) that would cost a third of my paycheck. Hit by a wave of inspiration (or maybe delusion) I said, "I think I can make this myself. How hard can it be?" I was creative. I knew how to sew. It couldn't be that different, right?

3 years, a dozen YouTube videos, a week long hands-on course and several failed prototypes later, I can tell you it is VERY different. But what started as a hobby has turned into a passion and a business. Yes, it turns out I could make a hat for myself, but truth is it feels so much better to help others transform into the character they want to be. A good hat can do that. 

So what can we make you?