There was once a time when I, the Backwards Fitted Cap, was a symbol of youth and laidback swagger. I was a proud object, one that may not have always been liked, but one that was always respected.

I was your strongest declaration of non-conformity and I always had your back. I was literally facing the same direction as your back. It's what I was always meant to do. I wasn’t created to face the same direction as you—that would’ve left you vulnerable to be approached by some uptight square in a cardigan. Oh yeah… cardigans are “cool” now.

You have completely forsaken me. There was a time when I was at every party, every sports game, and every concert with you, fist pumping and head banging. I was freestyle rapping and getting it crunk in the club. I was kick-flipping 10 stairs. And I never once fell off your head either, did I? That’s because I was fitted—fitted to your exact head size because that’s how much I cared about you.

Who was there for you, jamming out to Metallica with you when your shitty girlfriend dumped your ass?

But that doesn’t matter now, does it?

No, because now, instead of hitting beer bongs, crowd surfing, or rolling by with the 808’s slapping, I’m coaching an 11-year-old girl’s recreational soccer league. I’m getting beat up in high school for riding a goddamn Razor scooter to class. I’m sitting in the corner of a sleazy bar alone, sporting a barbed wire tattoo and an Affliction shirt, watching all those punk-ass snapbacks have all the fun and wondering why this shithole isn’t playing Limp Bizkit.

I mean, for Christ’s sake, snapbacks? Those assholes couldn’t be more fake if they were Donald Trump’s news. They could hop to one of your friend’s heads at the drop of a damn hat. (Yeah, I said it. Don’t you miss my jokes?) One quick adjustment and they forget all about you like you never gave them solace on your dome. If I get separated from you, someone might as well just burn me cause I was fully committed to this shit, exact head circumference and all. Yet, for some reason, these poser snapback dickheads have all your respect and attention now, while I sit in your closet, collecting dust and regretting that my only purpose was to fit your head and no one else’s.

What ever happened to loyalty?

I’ve been kicked to the curb and replaced like some kind of t-shirt you outgrew. Now that I think about it, maybe you did outgrow me. You’ve let your head get so damn big from all the good times we’ve had that you needed a hat that could adapt to the cranial enlargement. Remember your roots, goddamn it.

Who was there for you, jamming out to Metallica with you when your shitty girlfriend dumped your ass?

Who was side by side with you and Master Chief during all those sleepless, Mountain Dew and Dorito-filled nights?

Who was flying down the freeway with you in your ’02 Mustang while you punched the roof of the car in anger after your parents called you a basement-dwelling loser?

I was the one who got you, man. I understood why you got that eyebrow ring. I knew why you put that much gel in your hair. I loved your baggy pants; they gave your nuts plenty of room to hang, unlike those skin-tight manhood crushers you wear today.

I guess that no matter what I say, I’m not going to change your mind. I’ll just have to accept that all good things really do come to an end. But, I’ll have you know I was a really good thing. A damn good thing who was loyal to the core and had a heart of gold. Times change and I guess I’m just not cool anymore. Honestly, it tears me apart to even say those words. It’s like calling Michael Jordan unathletic, or saying the Beatles weren’t musical.

Alright, alright, I get it, you’re done. But this doesn’t mean I can’t ask for some kind of justice or closure.

Take me out of the damn closet. Pick me up from under your bed. Some kind of recognition for everything we’ve been through would be nice. Hang me on the wall or something. Put me in the drawer with your iPod Nano. At the very least, let me lay in the box with all your Korn and DMX albums. Those guys still appreciate me. Unlike you.

The funny thing is, one day, I will be cool again. If fanny packs can do it, anything’s possible, bro.


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