I chase the sun away and steal the light, I am the quiet hustle of the deep midnight. While others dream beneath the moon’s pale gleam, I brew the coffee and run the tireless machine. What am I?

Sounds like what she might wear to the office, but might refer to a Neanderthal man

Full of tiny rigid hair, your body's first line of defense I bear. Without me you cannot taste, and I rest square on your face.

I have no hair, but I hold it in place, I frame the top of a smiling face. I can be a colorful plastic ring, Or a stretchy, soft, and fabric thing. I crown your head but I’m not a king,

I neither snake drains nor fit pipes tight, but when I fall from a tree you might take a bite.