Stogie Springs Rope Snapback-the official headwear of people who definitely “almost went pro.”

$36.00

This is not just a hat. This is a membership application stitched in thread.

Crisp white like a freshly detailed ‘87 convertible. Braided rope across the bill because subtlety is for muni courses. And front and center, the Gorilla — patron saint of controlled excess — calmly enjoying a cigar like he owns both the back nine and the bank financing it.

The colors hit like a Miami sunset after a questionable financial decision. The embroidery is bold enough to read from ten feet away, because if they have to squint, you’ve already lost the moment.

Wear it to:
– The country club (whether you’re a member or just confident)
– A cigar lounge where someone says “interesting portfolio”
– Any gathering where prestige needs to be implied, not explained

This hat does not whisper. It nods knowingly.

Structured crown. Rope detail. Clean silhouette. Built to survive 18 holes, two cocktails, and one exaggerated story about a 280-yard drive with “wind assistance.”

Stogie Springs is not a place. It’s a state of mind. Prestige. Excess. Controlled chaos.

This is not just a hat. This is a membership application stitched in thread.

Crisp white like a freshly detailed ‘87 convertible. Braided rope across the bill because subtlety is for muni courses. And front and center, the Gorilla — patron saint of controlled excess — calmly enjoying a cigar like he owns both the back nine and the bank financing it.

The colors hit like a Miami sunset after a questionable financial decision. The embroidery is bold enough to read from ten feet away, because if they have to squint, you’ve already lost the moment.

Wear it to:
– The country club (whether you’re a member or just confident)
– A cigar lounge where someone says “interesting portfolio”
– Any gathering where prestige needs to be implied, not explained

This hat does not whisper. It nods knowingly.

Structured crown. Rope detail. Clean silhouette. Built to survive 18 holes, two cocktails, and one exaggerated story about a 280-yard drive with “wind assistance.”

Stogie Springs is not a place. It’s a state of mind. Prestige. Excess. Controlled chaos.