"No hats in the house" is an expression I often heard growing up. (That, along with sayings like, "No whistling in the house," or "Only kings lick their plates!"). Over the years, my siblings and I have simply grown accustomed to—among other things—removing our hats indoors. My mom tells us these idiosyncrasies originate from my father's father. As fate would have it, I was named for his mother (my great-grandmother Sarah), whose affinity for quilting I also seem to have inherited. So the sentimental dreamer in me likes to think that perhaps the "no hats" rule stood in her house, too.
But the raison d'être for {no} hats as it relates to "No hats...!" is a bit abstract. To be honest, I didn't realize that other households imposed more lenient hat-wearing policies—if at all!—until the day my then-boyfriend (now-husband) innocently failed to remove his ball cap at the front door. It felt a little off to me, but I let him in (gasp!). One lecture later, he now knows my parents' official stance on hats in the house.
The point is, in all aspects of my life, I have undeniably been shaped by the traditional features of my upbringing. That influence in my sewing manifests itself in my pronounced preference for symmetry and repetition. Still, that's not to say I can't bend the rules from time to time (did I mention I never made curfew?). In that sense, {no} hats (read: hatless-ness optional) honors those traditional roots while embracing whatever happens to come of my unbridled creative spirit.
Welcome to my world. Feel free to leave your hat {on} at the door ;)