The answer is simple. Once upon a time, I did not have hats. It was a haunting period - in winter my ears would grow heavy with hoarfrost in icy howling winds, in summer my pallid neck would be burned under the horrendous heat of the sun and in the ceaseless rain of spring and autumn my hair would become drenched and my vision hazy.

And then one day I found it. A Hat. A humble, helpful, halo of hope. A Hat!
Dearest reader on that day I wept tears of joy, joy unbridled, unbound and unending for I had received a herald of the haven I so honestly sought. My soul was healed by that Hat, I say!
Thus began my collection, a way to halt the elements, a humble straw-hat, a hairy ushanka and a helpful hood.

But the more hats I gathered the more I understood. These were not hebetudinous tools to be worn and hefted unto a hook until hankered for, no! They were, are , expressions of the self, of our humanity.
I began to see that the one who had the most hats would have the most insights into all paths of life, the hardhat of a construction worker, the veil of a widow, the dunce cap of a child scolded - they all granted heuristic wisdom of the perspectives of the people around me. They all showed an expression of the self.

I needed more. More histrionic headdresses; more holistic history of the Hat. I hungered for it and habitually hallucinated over having it. I would become the highest hegemonic hatted being.
And so I set forth to claim all hats- nay, all head-born habiliment upon this world as my own!
Thusly I am.
I am The One, Who would Have all the Hats.