Which Games Feature Iconic Brims On Their Protagonists?

There’s something about a hat that can make a character unforgettable, and in the world of 'Pokémon' a good hat almost feels like another character. For me, the first cap that pops into my head is Ash’s: that simple red-and-white cap with the green emblem from the original series. I was a kid watching cartoons after school and that silhouette—cap tilted forward, Pikachu on his shoulder—was the poster on my bedroom wall. It wasn’t just a hat, it was the “I’m ready” flag. Over the years Ash’s caps changed with each series, but every new design kept that same bold, sporty energy that screams “trainer.” I still wear a cap to conventions sometimes, and it’s funny how people instantly clock the homage even if it’s just a subtle color nod. Shifting to the games, Red’s cap is another icon. His more compact, slightly turned-up cap in art and sprites built this silent, cool vibe—less talk, more action. I’ve always loved how Red’s hat works as a visual anchor for his mystery; he’s rarely expressive in official art, but the hat gives him identity. Then you’ve got characters like May and Brendan from 'Pokémon Ruby/Sapphire'—May’s bandana-ish headgear has this sporty, adventurer feel that matches her upbeat, can-do personality, while Brendan’s cap-and-goggles combo reads like someone who’s a bit more hands-on and ready to tinker. Those designs made a lot of fans want to emulate their look in online avatars and cosplay groups I lurked in during my teens. Dawn’s toque from 'Pokémon Diamond/Pearl' deserves a shout-out too. That white hat with the pink Poké Ball motif stood out at the time because it mixed cuteness with functionality; she looked ready for snow and contests at once. Ethan (golden-era protagonist from 'Pokémon Gold/Silver') rocked a backwards cap which felt rebellious in a charming, approachable way—almost like a kid who plays by his own rules but still cares a lot for his Pokémon. Across handheld and TV, hats do more than keep the sun out of trainers’ eyes; they show era, personality, region, and mood. I find myself cataloguing them like badges in my head, and every time a new game drops I’m excited to see what the next iconic silhouette will be.

One of my absolute favorites has to be 'The Hunger Games' series by Suzanne Collins. Katniss Everdeen is such a compelling character, not only because she’s tough and resourceful but also because she’s layered and relatable. She starts as a reluctant hero, thrown into the brutal arena of the Hunger Games, where she has to fight for survival and protect her little sister. Her journey captures the essence of bravery, self-sacrifice, and moral complexity. Beyond the action, what grabs me is how her decisions reflect the struggles of defining one's identity amidst oppressive systems. I often find myself reflecting on how Katniss evolves from merely surviving to leading a revolution, which is just super inspiring. Another series that deserves the spotlight is 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' by Stieg Larsson. Lisbeth Salander is one of the most memorable characters I’ve come across in fiction. She’s fiercely intelligent, with a unique set of skills that make her a badass hacker and investigator. Her complex relationship with societal norms and historical trauma makes her journey a deep exploration of resilience. Personally, I love how she challenges the male-dominated spheres she enters, proving that strength comes in many forms. Larsson's storytelling, combined with Lisbeth's unyielding spirit, creates a captivating narrative that sticks with you long after you finish the book. Lastly, 'The Witcher' series by Andrzej Sapkowski features characters like Yennefer of Vengerberg who completely reshape the fantasy genre’s portrayal of women. Initially introduced as a powerful sorceress, Yennefer evolves throughout the series, grappling with her own desires and the consequences of power. What I find compelling is how she defies traditional expectations of female characters, refusing to be sidelined or defined solely by her relationships with men. With a fierce independence and complex emotions, Yennefer offers a richer, more realistic portrayal of womanhood in the fantastical realm. Each of these protagonists brings something unique to literature, showcasing strength, complexity, and depth that resonates with so many readers like me.

When I sketch characters I always treat the brim as a personality badge more than just fabric—it's the little punctuation mark that changes how a face reads. A wide, low brim immediately makes someone mysterious or dramatic; I often use heavy shadow under it to hide the eyes and create tension. Conversely, a jaunty baseball cap with a tilted brim gives the character a playful, careless vibe, and I accent that with a light catch on the edge to keep the eyes visible. I like experimenting with unconventional brims in alternate designs: translucent holographic brims for cyberpunk takes, battered straw for rural rebuilds, or rigid metal brims for knightly reimaginings. In fan art of 'Persona 5' or 'Sailor Moon' I’ve seen brims used as era-signifiers—vintage wide-brimmed hats for noir aesthetics, tiny pillbox styles for regal spins. When I redraw a character in a different setting, the brim is one of the first things I change because it instantly anchors them in a new world. If you want a quick change in mood, tweak brim shape, height, and material—those three moves often do the trick for me.

Blue hair in video games is such a visual shorthand — it can mean icy cool stoicism, mystical power, or just an eye-catching design choice. I’ve noticed it a lot across genres: for classic strategy-RPG fans you’ve got the royal blue-haired hero Marth from 'Fire Emblem' (he’s basically the blueprint for the blue-haired prince archetype), and later on there’s Ike from 'Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance' and 'Radiant Dawn' who’s gruffer but still rocking that blue mane. Lucina from 'Fire Emblem: Awakening' is another one who blends banner-bearing heroism with blue hair as a signature trait. Outside of tactical RPGs, blue hair shows up in action and JRPGs too. Aqua is a big one — she’s a central playable character in 'Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep' and gets the lead in 'Kingdom Hearts 0.2' where her blue hair matches her watery, magical theme. 'Azure Striker Gunvolt' stars Gunvolt, who has that cyan/blue aesthetic and the game leans into the color in its visuals and abilities. And yeah, for a different take, classic mascots like 'Mega Man' and 'Sonic the Hedgehog' function as blue-haired (or blue-colored) protagonists in platforming traditions, even if it’s fur or armor rather than hair. I love how designers use blue hair to telegraph personality or thematic elements — calm, mysterious, or elemental affinity — and I’m always tagging characters with blue hair on my playlist when I want that vibe.

I love detectives who are outsiders. Virgil Tibbs, a Black detective from Philadelphia solving a murder in the racist Deep South in 'In the Heat of the Night,' is iconic for the social barriers he has to overcome just to do his job. The mystery is tense, but the real puzzle is the town’s bigotry.

My brain lights up every time a hat cuts into a frame. At a basic level, a brim changes the silhouette by adding a horizontal or sweeping line that can lengthen, shorten, or otherwise re-proportion the head and shoulders. A wide, flat brim creates a dramatic horizontal plane that reads even at a distance; a narrow, close-to-the-head brim tightens the profile and makes the neck or collar more prominent. Add angle—tilt it low over the eyes or cock it back—and you change rhythm and personality instantly. On set, the brim is more than shape: it sculpts light and shadow. A low brim throws the face into shadow and can make a character secretive or menacing; a brim that catches rim light separates the hat from the background and gives the character a crisp outline. I find myself noticing how directors use brims like mini props for blocking—stepping, lowering, or flipping the brim becomes part of the choreography. In costume-heavy period films like 'The Great Gatsby' or moody noir like 'Blade Runner', that silhouette is shorthand: you recognize an archetype before you hear the first line. Next time you watch a movie, watch how often a brim signals entrance, intent, or a change in mood—it's sneaky but powerful.

There’s a quiet thrill I get when a character steps out of shadow and the brim of their hat cuts across their face — it’s almost cinematic, like the panel itself is whispering a secret. In novels and comics, a brim acts like a visual door: it hides eyes, muffles expressions, and promises that the person wearing it is keeping something. That concealment is the root of mystery; humans read faces first, so anything that blocks the face forces the reader to look for clues in posture, dialogue, and the little details the author drops. Beyond mere hiding, brims frame light and shadow in ways that cue mood. Think about a rain-slick alley in a noir comic, where the brim throws a crescent shadow that makes the mouth and chin the only visible features — suddenly every gesture feels charged. Brims also link to archetypes: the private detective, the enigmatic stranger, the masked vigilante. Those tropes carry expectations, so an author can subvert them or lean into them to play with suspense. I find it fun to scout brims when I read — how wide is it, how low it sits, what it hides — because each tiny choice changes what the reader suspects. Next time you see a brim, try reading the scene again from the character’s obscured angle; it’ll often reveal the story’s quieter mechanics and the author’s playful misdirection.

Gunnar Staalesen's Varg Veum is a Norwegian private investigator, which is a rarer breed in this genre. He's a former social worker in Bergen, which informs his deep concern for the vulnerable—runaways, addicts, the forgotten. The books are hardboiled in the classic Chandler tradition but with a distinctly Nordic, social-realist conscience. Varg is cynical, tough, but fundamentally compassionate. The city of Bergen, with its rain and shadows, is a perfect backdrop. 'The Writing on the Wall' is a good starting point. He’s less about forensics and more about knocking on doors, following leads, and getting beaten up for his troubles. A true, old-school icon.