Me, I wouldn't be caught dead wearing a Santa hat in public (or in private, for that matter: sorry, not my mythos), but even so, you won't have any problem picking me out in a crowd by my headgear.
I'm the one that's wearing a sprig of holly tucked into the roll of his cap.
Every morning, on the way out of the house, I snap off a fresh twig from the bush that grows by the front gate and don it for the day.
Let the cowans think what they may. (Probably: Gods, what a geek.) So what if it makes me look like a plum pudding? I'm a pagan, and pagans wear our holidays.
Tonight, when together we dance the Great Dance of the Wheel for the Sun's rebirth, the men (inside, facing out) will be wearing holly, the women (outside, facing in) ivy. Holly and ivy, male and female: that's the custom.
For the Kalasha of what is now northwestern Pakistan, the only people of the entire Indo-European diaspora who have practiced their traditional religion uninterruptedly since antiquity—the Winter Solstice (surprise!) is the greatest feasting of all the year. Throughout the nearly month-long celebration, both men and women alike tuck sprigs of juniper into their headgear: juniper of the mountain fairies, whose fragrance is beloved of the gods: juniper, the “winter flower.”
Old, new: pagans are pagans, and—wherever we may be—we don't just celebrate our holidays.
We wear them.