The reaction suggests there's quite a ways to go before people of New York are willing to sit around Hillary's proposed Kumbaya campfire.
The mere sight of my cap nearly caused a riot at the historic Stonewall Inn on Christopher Street — site of the 1969 riots that launched the gay rights movement.
“You come into a gay bar — THIS gay bar — with THAT hat!” one woman lectured as a large crowd gathered.
At Soho’s sceney La Esquina, where celebs like Julia Roberts nosh on $26 enchiladas, servers nearly lost their lunch when I showed up.
“Oh my God, do you see that? Is he serious? Is he kidding me?” one waiter gasped.
My companion and I were quickly shunted to an out of sight table near a back wall.
At Sylvia’s soul-food restaurant in Harlem, my server, Patrick Bros, admitted after my meal that he was taken aback by the hat, but figured, “whatever.”
Nearby, folks were less diplomatic.
“Don’t talk to him!” a man instructed a street vendor as I browsed along 125th street near the Apollo Theater.
Hipsters and trustafarians along Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg either did a double take, shot me a death stare or a snarky remark.
“Take off that stupid f—ing hat!” one skinny-jeans-wearer sneered.
At high-end chapeau peddler Goorin Bros., I overheard a salesman tell his colleague, “I’m losing my sh–!” as I walked in. When I asked him to hold my hat while I admired a fedora, he grimaced.
“I’m surprised nobody’s knocked that hat off your head!” a mother of two scolded me as we crossed paths along Central Park West and 63rd Street. “Make America Great Again — right!”
Asking disapproving salesman to actually hold the detested object: priceless. And awesome. Well done, sir.