Friday, November 9, 2007
Hats in the Belfrey
I was always one to scorn hats... turning up my nose that has a very straight bridge, and isn't meant to be turned up. To do so actually means I have to look down it's length, a skill I've perfected over the years, allowing me to give the Icy Glare. This look has served me well in life, causing cars to stop in their tread, children to stop whatever wrong they are doing, and tourists to swipe and go when they hit the station, without questioning why or where they are going.
I did not like hats. Not big hats, small hats, baseball hats (which had their own special place in my book of hat hell), large brim, snappy brim, red, blue, black, feathered, sequined, knitted (even by me) or with cute pom poms on it... they were horrible.
Sure, maybe I hated hats because I can't wear one. Perhaps it was a deep seated envy that caused me to watch Fergie's wedding, and sob quietly in a corner of my sofa, huddled there not over the pomp and circumstance (and the hideousness of that dress, not to mention her bad hair and the Queen.. who dresses that woman? What is in that purse? A digital camera? A novel by Barbara Cartland?) but, overcome by the plethora of hats, the dignified wave that happened when everyone stood and their heads tipped and bowed with all that haberdashery on display.
My sister/friend, Loo, wears a hat. She does a great job of it, having that certain panache, that ability to match the colour to her outfit, never feeling self conscious about the fact she has a huge amount of stuff on her head that isn't hair.
Of course, she's English, so, that helps.
I even refused to wear those baseball caps when I had a Jeep.
Why? Because I looked stupid, that's why. My face isn't shaped to wear a hat, my head is kind of, well, different, and one ear doesn't lay at close to my head as the other. As a child, my mother taped it to my head.
It didn't work.
I have high cheekbones, and, well, all in all, I look silly. No, I do. Ask my friends. I would put on a baseball cap, and they'd laugh and laugh. Yeah.
The other reason? Oh, it's even simpler....
That was the other reason. Hat hair. Who wants it? I have enough hair issues to not want hat hair, and once you've got hat hair, you are stuck with the hat on your head.
When I moved to New York City, life changed.
I discovered the beauty of the hat. I embraced the hat. I rolled in my collection of hats, I counted them, made sure I had one in each colour group, and I wore them proudly.
Because it rains. It sleets. It snows. It is windy, sunny, clear. Because you walk out the door and get stuff, well, right out the door. So, who wants to get in the shower, wash your hair, put in product and then wait for it to dry/blow dry it?
You put on a hat!
The amazing, wonderful, darling, cute-as-a-button hat!
Berets, paperboy, baseball (yes, it's a cap, but, don't split, well, hairs), race car... all kinds! Knit, cashmere, felt... they slip on and slip off, allowing you to look good when you go outside to either pick up coffee or attend a film. You insist you look good, and as long as you don't pass reflective surfaces.. you can retain that delusion.
I even went to lunch with The Weather Guy... and I wore a baseball cap.
I'm thrilled to death with the invention of the hat. I may even start wearing some of my vintage ones, when I go to a place where I can wear a pair from my collection of vintage gloves.
What? You don't wear a hat? FMD Get with the fashion...
P.S. My editor in chief was interviewed today... it's a nice read. Hurrah, Emily!
Posted by quin browne at 4:12 PM