A Belgian Capmaker With a Wild Side
City Sport has been making caps in Belgium since 1898, but tradition does not always arrive dressed in quiet brown tweed.
One of my City Sport caps is covered with guitars, cassette tapes, turntables, microphones and enough color to wake up every cap on the rack. It is co-branded with FunkyBrims, combining that shop's colorful personality with City Sport's Belgian craftsmanship.
I already owned a couple of their caps before I stopped to learn more about the people who made them. That is often how it happens. We notice the fabric and the shape first. The story comes later.
City Sport began with Victor Declercq, his wife Marie Olivier and seven craftspeople. When Victor died in 1917, Marie kept the business going with their sons. By the 1930s, City Sport caps had become closely connected to Belgian cycling. The company even sent a promotional car topped with an enormous cap to races, including the Tour of Flanders and the Tour de France. It must have been quite a sight coming down the road.
The company grew to around 100 employees during the 1960s, but changing fashions nearly pushed the traditional cap aside. Longer hairstyles, automobiles and more casual clothing all played a part. City Sport adapted, survived and eventually found new customers for a style that never entirely disappeared.
In 2024, the Declercq family sold the company to twin brothers Lowie and Artuur Coffez. That ended four generations of family ownership, but not Belgian production. The new owners kept the workshop in Ardooie and retained the craftspeople who knew how to make the caps.
Today, City Sport says its caps are still produced in its own atelier by approximately 35 craftspeople. The company uses fabrics from respected mills, including Belgian linen, Italian wool and Irish tweed. Its summer fabrics are independently tested for UPF 50+ sun protection, a detail that gets my attention here in Texas.
My cap is not the sort most people would picture when they hear "128-year-old Belgian cap maker." That is part of its appeal. Old craftsmanship does not have to look old, and tradition does not have to be dull.
Sometimes it can look like a record shop exploded on your head.
And I mean that as a compliment.
Sources and Further Reading
Personal experience and photograph by Jerry Gault.
