The prominent sign of rank in Haupton is the hat. More than other clothing articles or possessions, the size of one's hat defines a person's social status. Because of this, great interest is invested in hat making. The social ranks are so numerous in Haupton that the hats of the upper classes often exceed heights of 50 ft in order to be distinguished from the lesser ranks.
It is because of the importance of hats for social identity that they are not removed when indoors. This presents trifling problems for the higher classes who must have special housings built to accommodate their height. The houses of city government officials are easily recognizable by their enormous doors and imposing, vertical statures. However, the size of one's house is of little importance to one's public image. Everyone knows that it is the hat that dictates the house and not the other way round. Because of these special building requirements, people with larger hats rarely have dealings with those of lower ranks, not out of disdain or contempt but merely out of considerations for practicality.
Workers in the lower strata of society also wear hats but they are nowhere near as ornate or tall. The average height of a bank teller's hat is anywhere from 6 to 8 ft whereas a janitor is crowned with little more than a quarter-brimmed baseball cap. These hats, however small, are legacy hats. A chef's hat is handed down from father to son and gardener's bonnets pass from generation to generation. The hats are not signs of skill so much as they are marks of lineage.
It would seem easy for a person, malcontent with their inherited hat to simply make a larger one and assume a more prestigious role in society but that sort of behavior is simply not tolerated in Haupton. Of course, there are still instances where an unhappy hat-maker creates an unauthorized hat in his cellar, but the natural consequences are usually great enough a punishment since the hat-maker's neck is seldom adequate to support his illicit magnificence.
The social elite undergo specialized hat balance training from very early ages and consequently have finely tuned neck muscles, capable of supporting the largest of hats. If, say, a carpenter attempted to don the cap of a city magistrate, not only would he look completely out of sorts, wobbling down the street, he would pose a threat to his fellow citizens whose own hats might be toppled by his incompetence.
The only greater crime in Haupton than wearing an illegal hat is displacing the hat of someone else. Such occasions occur frequently on minor scales but the major catastrophes tend to stick in the collective memory. Every good citizen remembers the Great Felling of 1954, for instance. Terry Downs, the hatless perpetrator, had snuck into a convention of city officials and run about the floor, indiscriminately swatting off hats left and right. The result was nothing less than cataclysmic. Amid the crashing and screaming, mayor became indistinguishable from caterer and treasurer from majordomo of tourism. The whole city was turned upside down for nearly a week until law officials sorted out who the city judges were. Terry Downs was swiftly tried in court and beheaded the next day.
The highest disgrace in Haupton is to have no hat at all. Such individuals surely exist within the city but they rarely show their faces on account of their blistering shame. One or two appear from time to time, begging for any sort of head covering that can be spared. They are rarely successful, however, and often just fashion themselves crude hats out of newspaper scraps before shuffling out of public sight.
