Here’s what happens when you wear a Trump cap in downtown Ma

I never realized how much I fit in until I didn’t.
Like many others in Manhattan, I launched a start-up, I do yoga, and I meditate. When I meet people at coffee shops and parties, I feel relaxed and open. I know we’ll share a lot in common.
Not today. This morning my wrist is shaking so much I can barely brush my teeth. My heart is beating so quickly I can barely think.
In a few minutes I’ll walk around the West Village in the iconic “Make America Great Again” cap that symbolizes Donald Trump’s campaign.
I won the hat Friday as a “ironic” gift at a Cards Against Humanity tournament a friend hosted. Everyone at the party was a Democrat. My friend thought it would be funny for the prizes to be Trump mugs and hats. In a moment of silliness, I chose the red cap and put it on. My friend Dorie Clark commented that it “actually looks good on you,” and we laughed. I looked at her and said, “I wonder if I’d get shot if I wore this around my neighborhood tomorrow morning.” She responded, “you might.”
It got me thinking. What would happen? Especially on a day when hundreds of thousands of Democrats were gathering at protests around the country.
What started as a joke became real curiosity. I know Trump has offended many people. I don’t agree with his policies or appointments, and I didn’t vote for him. But he won the election, and I don’t think all of his supporters are racists or bad people. Most liberals consider themselves open-minded. I wanted to see if my neighbors actually were.
I told Dorie I’d spend an hour wearing the red cap as a social experiment and write an article about what happened.
Now that the time has come, I feel terrified.
I walk downstairs holding the hat in my hand, unable to stomach running into my landlord with the cap on.
In the lobby, I put it on. I can feel my heartbeat, already fast, start racing. I haven’t felt this scared since bungee jumping 43 meters off a bridge in New Zealand.
I step outside.
Heart pounding, I see a guy walking down the street. I tell him right away it’s an experiment and ask if he thinks I’ll be safe. “You won’t get spit on or shot,” he said, “but people will look.”
He’s right.
People are staring at me as I walk by. It’s a look of shock and fascination.
This cute guy looks at me, stares at the hat, then does a double take to make sure he had properly processed what his eyes had seen. Hillary Clinton won nearly 9x the votes of Donald Trump in Manhattan, and people downtown often assume everyone they meet is a Democrat.
I’m relieved to walk into my neighborhood coffee shop, because I warned them earlier about the experiment. The baristas greet me with a laugh, and I explain what I’m doing to the woman next to me at the counter. “I don’t mind,” she says, “I’m from Texas, and I voted for Trump!”
But this mom looks at me, looks at the hat and hurriedly rushes her child out of the cafe before ordering.
Coffee in hand, it’s time to leave my safe haven of the shop. But my nerves are frayed. I’m shaking so much I can barely hold the coffee straight.
Walking down 6th Avenue I’m petrified of running into someone I know. Maybe someone from my work world? I run a meditation community called The Path and am unsure how the red hat would be perceived.
I can’t bring myself to make eye contact with anyone or even to lift up my head. And on behalf of Trump supporters, I feel like I should smile at everyone I pass. I might be the first seemingly visible Trump supporter many of these Manhattanites have ever seen! I make an effort to look friendly and non-threatening.
A kind-looking man with a dog looks at me then looks down, a sad look on his face.
My fingers are shaking so much I’m having trouble typing notes on people’s reactions in the Evernote app on my phone.
Earlier this morning I did an interview with Organic Spa Magazine about how to breathe properly. I told the reporter the most important thing is to be aware of your breath becoming uneven — and quicker than normal. Now I’m fully aware that I am incapable of breathing normally. I start worrying about hyperventilating.
That’s when this girl walks by with her dry cleaning and says, “F- you” to me under her breath.
I’m living in fear of other people. I want everyone to go away. I want to crouch under Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak or take the hat off, forever.
But I have somewhere to go. I try to take slow, deep breaths. I make it across an intersection with the hat on. And I walk into Peacefood Cafe, a popular vegan restaurant in the West Village.
A manager comes over and says, “Everyone is entitled to their own thing,” which makes me feel better. I smile. “People are pretty nice in here,” she says.
But two girls, clearly a couple, had just walked in. One sees me and begins whispering to the other. After a quick chat they look over at me with a distasteful look, then scurry out of the restaurant before ordering.

Another girl who had finished eating walks by me, looks at the cap and then just looks forlorn. All these sad glances are making me feel sad.
It’s getting closer to noon and the streets of lower Manhattan are filling up. People are definitely looking at me. Nearly 45 minutes after having first put on the cap, I’m gaining the confidence to look up. And I can see that people look either interested, or sad, or both.
I’m in Union Square now, packed with people heading to the Women’s March. One guy looks at me and laughs, either with pity or respect for the chutzpah of a seemingly lone Republican in a liberal sea.
The subway feels the scariest of all. I take off the hat and find my way to a packed platform of protestors. I explain the social experiment to the girls next to me, and the tallest one says, “I’d be terrified. I’d watch out.” She then turns her back to me, as do her friends, and never looks back. I want to ask, “Do you consider yourself open-minded and liberal?”
The train comes. I show a heavy-set dad in an Aaron Burr t-shirt the hat (now in my bag), and he says, “I could see someone grabbing it and lighting it on fire.” He asks me not to put it on. I ask why. He says, “I would label it a safety issue.”
I’m heading to Pure East, the yoga studio where The Path is hosting a meditation retreat. For some reason I feel safer walking on the Upper East Side. When I arrive at the retreat, I decide to take the cap off. No one else is wearing a hat. But during the first break, I tell the fellow meditators what I’ve been doing, and they find it fascinating. We have a great conversation about what it feels like to be an outsider.
In college I was a Republican at a liberal school. Each year I held up a “Republican” sign for the yearbook as the only member of the club. It felt like the most liberal thing I could do.
During the election I supported Hillary Clinton, whom I’ve known since I was a kid. But today I feel empathy for Trump supporters in New York and other heavily blue zip codes around the country.
You don’t have to be racist to support Donald Trump. You don’t have to love what he said on the Access Hollywood tape. Perhaps you just wanted change. And I respect that. Today I realize how divided our country is. That people in lower Manhattan want to stare, curse at, or leave restaurants that serve people who support the man who is now our President.
From now on, I’ll respect people who choose to look different from others or hold views that might not be popular where they live. I was in their shoes for just one hour, and I was scared. But I will also say this—I’m moving into a yoga and meditation ashram this week, and I’ll be glad not to wear the red hat.
Dina Kaplan is Founder of The Path, which teaches meditation for the modern mind. Previously she co-founded Blip, the platform for web series. Dina has been named one of Fortune’s Most Powerful Women Entrepreneurs and has published articles in Marie Claire, Town & Country and Today.com. Follow her at @dinakaplan, follow The Path at @thepath or join her at a meditation at thepath.com.