“Gavroche!”: Lyas Writes a Love Letter to His Favorite Hat

Lyas wears Sweater, Skirt, and Shoes Loewe. Hat Kokin New York.

It was late on a Thursday evening, and the Parisian summer breeze felt inaccurately cold for August, but I was happy, which is often the case when I’m tipsy. I’d just spent the night out with friends drinking Ricard, because Thursdays are the new Fridays, which used to be the new Saturdays. Now Saturdays are just sad Sundays. I was wearing my new favorite hat, a limp black cap that sat perfectly on my messy hair. As I biked home, getting confused about the days of the week, I heard a drunk teenager scream, “Gavroche!”

Top and Pants McQueen by Seán McGirr. Hat Laurence Bossion. Shoes Pressiat Archive.

As Victor Hugo wrote some centuries ago, a gavroche is a Parisian street kid. A gamin, sardonic and generous, who is left to his own devices. A kid that laughs, runs, and fights back. Fittingly, a gavroche hat can also be seen on a young man proudly carrying two pistols in the Eugène Delacroix painting “Liberty Leading the People.” I initially loved wearing the cap because, even though I’m somewhat of an adult now, I feel like a young revolutionary, repelled by any sense of authority. So when I heard gavroche, I smiled, thinking that, apart from a few gray-bearded French men and some Emily in Paris wannabes, I was the only one with enough audacity to bring the hat back.

Vest Lyas’ Own. Pants Pressiat Archive. Hat Laurence Bossion. Shoes Thom Browne.

I arrived in New York for fashion week a couple weeks later with not much more than a dream and a cap. As I entered the venue of the first of many shows that season, my dream quickly turned into a nightmare. Not one, not two, not three, not four, but five people were wearing a gavroche. My internal scream was so loud, it woke up the demon inside of me. What do you mean my revolutionary French hat historically worn by street kids is now on the heads of wealthy capitalists at fashion week? My culture is not your costume! But then something funny happened. I realized that those wealthy capitalists were me. The demon, ashamed of himself, went back to sleep.

Back in January, on the first full moon of the year, John Galliano debuted his exquisite spring ’24 Margiela Artisanal show. The collection was inspired by Brassaï’s documentation of Parisian bohemia in the 1920s, and the models, staggering along the Seine before finding shelter in a broken-down bar, mimicked his archetypes: the un-housed, prostitutes, socialites, and gavroches. The following week, everyone started dressing like characters from the runway, imitating their walks and Pat McGrath’s viral make-up looks. Of course, all of this mimicry made me want to reclaim part of my identity. In that moment, I became a patriot, and the hat became a token of my Frenchness.

Coat Quira. Jacket Ambush. Shirt McQueen by Seán McGirr. T-shirt Jean Paul Gaultier. Hat Lyas’ Own. Gloves Xander Zhou.

Of course, Galliano may not have been the only reason people started wearing gavroches again. It might’ve also had something to do with nostalgia for the early aughts, like when Keira Knightley rocked one in Love, Actually, or when Britney Spears made them a thing (I just saw a paparazzi shot of Addison Rae wearing one this morning). But none of those girls are French, so I don’t want to credit them for this beautiful hat’s return. My delusional Parisian ass wants to be the one spearheading this revolutionary revival, and if I can’t, I’ll wear a fedora instead.

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Hair: Natsumi Ebiko using Oribe.

Skin: Axelle Jérina using Isamaya Beauty.

Repelled by Sense of Authority.