I'm having a bit of a headband moment. No, don't worry, I'm not about to suggest you go out and purchase a bandana, but during Sunday's epic Federer-Nadal clash I became mesmerised by the two players' headgear. Both sported the obligatory Nike “swoosh” - which as time wore on looked more and more like a benign giant of a teacher had bent down and made an approving tick on the foreheads of a couple of Playmobil figurines - but what caught my attention was that both bands were tied at the back in a flamboyant knot, and not made from one piece of stretchy elastic towelling. These were real, tied headscarves, which perfectly suited a game in which the word “love” is used repeatedly. Man.

You see, this televisual treat came hard on the heels of late-night Glastonbury on the tube, which is where I made the acquaintance of MGMT, a bunch of sun-soaked psychedelic hippy kids with long hair held in place by, you guessed it, brightly patterned headbands. Having watched them on the John Peel stage from my sofa, I reckon I am now officially down with the kids as I can name-check the band that is apparently supplying the soundtrack of the summer.

It has been a while since the Mutton sported a headband. And then, mercifully, it was for a short while only - not during the first Summer of Love in the late Sixties, or the second in the late Eighties, I am ashamed to say, but in a moment of New Romantic madness when I thought Duran Duran were the way forward sartorially.

Just over a quarter of a century later and I've learnt my lesson. Summer headgear chez Mutton is now a hat, worn mainly for the purposes of protection from the UV rays that back in the day (as the kids I am now down with are wont to say) were not the acknowledged danger they are today. But what sort of hat, I hear you ask? Mindful that in my byline photo above I am pictured in a brimmed number from Bailey of Hollywood, I feel I should clarify.

Though to my eyes the picture is decidedly more Indiana Jones than Rat Pack, my intention was always to ape the Chairman of the Board himself, Frank Sinatra. There's a great old US company, Bailey of Hollywood, which does a number of styles that Ol' Blue Eyes and his high-rolling buddies would have liked when a brimmed hat was a permanent fixture in any man's wardrobe.

Fashion legend has long held that hats went out of fashion in 1961, when another famous American, John F. Kennedy, became the first US President to be inaugurated bareheaded. In fact the claim is false, as JFK sported the requisite silk topper on the day, but the notion has stuck and in the Sixties there was a general falling-off of hat-wearing.

They've remained dormant until fairly recently, when an unlikely coalition of surfers, skaters, snowboarders, pop and film stars and sports fans has revived interest in headgear. High-profile hat-wearers such as Samuel L. Jackson (who conferred grooviness beyond dispute on Kangol) and U2's The Edge have joined forces with legions of beanie-toting 18-year-olds to remind us that a hat is not just a cute anachronism, but a useful addition to a modern male's accessory drawer.

The one I recommend for summer is the classic Panama. It's portable (some models roll up nicely), and works in all manner of contexts, from Centre Court (with chinos and an open-collared shirt), to the office (with a suit - nouveau Rat Pack), to the beach (with shorts and a T-shirt). Though Bailey of Hollywood does a nice line in Panamas, I'd visit Lock & Co. of St James's, London, the firm that apparently supplied Frankie. All of its panamas are handwoven in Ecuador using tequila palm fibre. My favourite is a wide-brimmed folding style from Monte Cristi that comes with a handy “travel tube”.