Once worn by blue-collar tradesmen who needed to keep their hair back, the beanie today is a cultural signifier for scenesters, skateboarders, and people who call beer “libations.” They’re like a pair of checkered Vans for your head. They’re also an excellent accessory for keeping warm. These knitted caps, often woolen, are easy to fit and pair well with most forms of casualwear. The question is, which color should you get? Beanies come in every color and shade. To help you navigate through the options, such that you can get something like a mood ring for your noggin, we’ve broken down what seven beanie colors will say about you.

Black Beanie

You just watched The Lighthouse and thought it was a “cinematic masterpiece that gives a glimpse into the frailty of the human mind.” You were inspired by the accurate early twentieth-century New England costuming and want to look like a period-appropriate fisherman. You refer to movies as “films,” but a close friend to you points out that they don’t actually wear beanies in the movie.

Yellow Beanie

You are a forward-thinking connoisseur and set trends. You liked orange before it blew up this season. You recognize that yellow is an underrated colour (you also spell things the English way because it seems more sophisticated). It matches very well with most things and gives a beautiful contrast to big dark blue coats. This particular shade of yellow reminds you of a flower you saw at the botanical garden. You refer to this shade as “dandelion.” You’re on your fifth fiddle leaf fern because all your plants keep dying.

Red Beanie

You think Steve Zissou is an icon and Werner Herzog is your favorite filmmaker. You’re a dad, but you think you’d be a cool one who would let your teen drink alcohol so long as it’s in the safety of your own home, also to make sure they do not get blackout drunk in college. You own your own hedge-trimmer but hire someone else to mow your lawn.

Charcoal Beanie

Your wardrobe consists entirely of blue-grey-black. You’re fanatical about natural fibers, custom fabrics, and mixing textures. As a refined person who has dabbled with the idea of having a minimalist, curated wardrobe, you don’t view this as dressing safely—you see it as having a developed and mature taste. You have seven blue coats but live in Texas, and with every new autumn, you have a weekly existential breakdown as your lust for another coat battles your goal of a minimalist wardrobe. By the end of this season, you’ll have two new navy coats and a new woolen charcoal jacket.

Green Cap

You love the outdoors and don’t refer to this as a beanie, but a “cap” (a nod to the history of the accessory). You own expensive camping equipment from brands such as Snow Peak, and enjoy clothes with workwear influences. You share photos you’ve taken of the Appalachian Mountains (from a scenic view pull-off on the Blue Ridge Parkway), and anyone can get you to buy a garment if they name it something like “Fisherman’s Smock” or “Gardener’s Pants.” You own a $750 boutique wood-chopping ax, which you purchased using the money you got from stock options at your tech job. The company you work for lies in the heart of a major metropolitan city devoid of trees.

Bordeaux Beanie

You’re a fierce creative who isn’t afraid to show it. You have a mug of your favorite Pantone color and you consider “design thinking” to be one of your skills. Your space is carefully curated with beautifully designed yet questionable furniture. In your home office is a map with pins of all the Frank Lloyd Wright homes you’ve visited, and next to your replica Eames chair is a stand with multiple Taschen books exploring different artistic subjects. You’ve taken the Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator for your dog and found that it is ENTJ.

Marled Beanie

You have a beard, and you prefer your eggs multi-colored and laid by heritage breed hens (a bonus if the hens all have names). Tie-dyes are not out of the question, and you’ve calculated your carbon footprint more than once. You occasionally dream of living in a van and just dirtbagging your way around life and hitting up the best boulder spots, but if you had no permanent address, where would all your Amazon Prime orders of reusable beeswax food wraps and metal straws be mailed to?