The Man Beneath the Hat

If you’re a member of the Haverford College community, you probably know Ben Fligelman ‘26. 

The tall, perpetually enthusiastic senior is known for his many eccentricities, but a few stand out: his proclivity for greeting passersby with a “Salutations,” his night owl tendencies, and, most importantly, his signature style.

Fligelman’s attire seems discordant with the present: he sports a tweed coat, a newsboy cap, and a tie under a sweater. Laundry is difficult, he concedes, but less difficult than one might think. With his outfits, Fligelman seeks to embody “a specific tradition of undergraduate dress, but also the kind of person who I think I am and who I want to be to the world.”

Since elementary school, Fligelman has worn a hat everywhere “because I’m cold all the time.”  His most frequent accessory, Fligelman insists on changing his hat with the season. 

He brought this tradition with him to college, where it took on a life of its own. On a whim, Fligelman hosted his inaugural “Changing of the Hat” ceremony in September 2023, during the fall of his sophomore year. Addressing a bemused crowd, he stood on Founders Porch and swapped a broad-brimmed Panama hat for his beloved flat cap, the latter a gift from his parents on his 16th birthday. His audience has grown with every equinox, as has the spectacle. This fall, Fligelman advertised his hat-changing ceremony as a resurrection; when the clock struck 6:36 PM on September 22, a few of his friends somberly carried his supine and lifeless body from the VCAM to Founders. Upon reaching the porch, he was reanimated, finding the strength to soliloquize about love, Ibsen, and Mitski.

Fligelman is no stranger to life in the public eye. He is a Students’ Council Co-President, a tutor at the Writing Center, and a former member of Mock Trial. As an active participant in life at Haverford, Fligelman understands the power of community. “One of the great things about Haverford specifically, and also the residential liberal arts college concept of education,” Fligelman says, “is that you both get an impact on your community, but you’re also shaped by it in return.”

One of Fligelman’s goals for college was to develop as a critical thinker. He describes the liberal arts college education as “providing (ideally) the individual with an Archimidean point… a point on a lever by which you can move any problem. Answer any question.”

At Haverford, he asks important questions. Why the liberal arts college? Why the Honor Code? His answer: “It’s a way to help young people, 18-year-olds, grow up, in the truest sense of the term.” 

College has allowed Fligelman to learn more about himself. He calls the opportunity to mature while attending college “a profound and unique luxury.” Fligelman also cites the power of being “less at the mercy of strange and arcane powers like the American public school system and one’s parents.” At Haverford, he finally has the freedom to live on his own terms.

In the wake of his last autumnal equinox on campus, Fligelman is thinking a lot. About the future, the past, and most importantly, the present. About “what it means to be young and youthful.” About his thesis. He does some of his best thinking on late-night constitutionals, hands in pockets, taking long strides in the dark. 

When he is not sleeping or promenading, Fligelman spends most of his time in the Gest Center. He affectionately calls the space, known for its encouragement of philosophical inquiry, his “campus living room.” Fligelman chose his dorm room in nearby Lloyd Hall, the cornermost room on the second floor, because he claims it has the best view of his beloved building.

An avid reader, Fligelman’s penchant for quoting great American novels complements his philosophical ruminations. In his coat pocket, he keeps handy a miniature copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, among other things. The array of items he carries, like his notes on scrap paper, a wad of cash, a bus ticket, and a passport, reflects his thoughtfulness and inclination toward spontaneity.

The generally unflappable Fligelman seems uncharacteristically uncertain about his relationship to his hometown, the self-described “charming rural hamlet” of Redding, Connecticut. In high school, he aspired to be the town’s mayor. Now he’s not so sure. All he knows is that he wants to help others.

Ever pensive, Fligelman reflects, “I think a lot about what it means to dedicate your life to something. One person can make a profound difference. Maybe living the kind of life I did here because I like the idea of making an impact, of being someone who helps a community.”

Reminiscing on his time at Haverford, Fligelman says, “My experience has been most altered by the people I’ve lived with and befriended, loved, and hopefully not hated. I haven’t hated anyone. I hope no one’s hated me.”

Here’s something he wants people to know: despite his eccentricities, or perhaps because of them, he’s being genuine. No modifiers are necessary to see that Fligelman, with his earnest and readily offered smile, wants to help Haverford become a better place. It’s all the more interesting with him in it.