In March, dozens of wealthy people were indicted in a massive college admissions bribery scheme. Basically, Richie Rich-types paid large bribes to get their dumb kids into top schools, which is only noteworthy in this case because they got caught. Of the fifty or so parents originally charged with giving tens of thousands of dollars to ring leader/college prep advisor/big time grifter Rick Singer, the most notable names were actors Felicity Huffman and Lori Loughlin. (The latter has been lovingly referred to as Aunt Becky on this blog for the better part of the year, and I’ve so enjoyed documenting her fall from grace.) Huffman eventually plead guilty to paying a $15,000 bribe and was sentenced to 14 days in prison, of which she served just 11. Loughlin, on the other hand, has rejected plea deals—considering that she and hubby Mossimo Giannulli allegedly dropped $500,000 to get their daughters Olivia Jade and the other one into USC, things aren’t looking so bright for her. Because she’s been wearing a big ol’ crime hat out in public to shade her face.
I first coined “crime hat” on a sleepy July day after noticing that, hey, Aunt Becky wears a lot of big hats in public, even though her public appearances are few and far between, and that a big hat only makes her appear more suspicious. Soon after, Page Six was using the terminology, as was Vanity Fair and a few other, smaller publications. Moments like these really fulfill a journalist’s purpose: everyone dreams to name something and have that idiot thought become bigger than herself, and I actually did it. Also, it doesn’t hurt that Aunt Becky, bless her heart, continued to wear a damn crime hat. It evolved, and here is your guide to that evolution. 2019, I will miss you.
Aunt Becky, excuse me, Where’s Waldo?, was seen exiting a nail salon in Beverly Hills in June, three months after the initial Operation Varsity Blues story broke. Atop her head was a giant, canvas, bag-like hat. It was so large, her entire face was obscured. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that she dove straight into “accused person” as a stylistic choice.
See? I promised it was her under there! In July, Loughlin went out to lunch with some girlfriends. She wore her soon-to-be infamous headgear.
Aunt Becky goes grocery shopping. This time, her crime hat has morphed into a sun-crime hat. It’s a bit more innocuous this way, and surely she doesn’t want to alarm the employees at Kroger.
Something miraculous happened. Presumably burdened by her crime hat’s newfound fame, Becky pivoted to a gigantic visor. Please also note the graphic t-shirt, which reads “positivity,” and her crucifix. She is a woman of GOD, goddammit.
Aunt Becky pumped gas in a monstrously large visor, not unlike the one she wore less two weeks prior. The only difference appears to be the sash above the bill—now it’s black, as if she’s mourning the crime hat.
On the day before Halloween—very spooky—Aunt Becky was seen driving around Los Angeles is a black Benz, an image my colleague Joan Summers described with, “unfortunately crime hat-less, but I think a mysterious black luxury vehicle is the perfect replacement. (Crime car! Crime car! Crime car!)” I happen to agree.
Aunt Becky goes to a yoga class wearing the original crime visor. It seems like it would’ve been easier to just, I don’t know, pay a professional to lead her in Vinyasa. (Is that anything? I reject all hippie shit and have therefore never yoga-ed.) Either way, it’s nice to see her choice headwear remerge, unscathed.
Until next time, crime hat.