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Hat Shop, Queen Street W., Toronto, 1987
“A hat is a shameless flatterer, calling attention to an escaping curl, a tawny braid, a sprinkling of freckles over a pert nose, directing the eye to what is most unique about a face. Its curves emphasize a shining pair of eyes, a lofty forehead; its deep brim accentuates the pale tint of a cheek, creates an aura of prettiness, suggests a mystery that awakens curiosity in the onlooker.” ~Jeanine Larmoth
Vogue fashion arbiter Diana Vreeland famously declared “Unshined shoes are absolutely the end of civilization, darling.” That may well be, but what of an unadorned head? Surely a fashion faux pas at the crown goes beyond the merely apocalyptic.
For my part, I’m rarely caught without a hat. I turned to headwear first out of embarrassment — to cover early male-pattern baldness — but vanity soon reared its head and I discovered the magic of millinery.
The hat can beguile or befuddle, attract or amuse. Add a slogan to the ubiquitous baseball cap and join a tribe, team, or political cult.
My father entertained children and adults alike, wearing an oversized top-hat. When he donned that outrageous headgear (and matching outfit, all sewn by my seamstress mom), the Mad Hatter emerged — a charming bumbler with a dozen delightful surprises up his sleeve.
A 1571 British Act of Parliament, devised to stimulate domestic wool consumption, decreed that on Sundays and holidays, all males over 6 years of age, except for the nobility and “persons of degree,” were to wear woollen caps or face a fine of three farthings per day.
Perhaps echoes of this law caused me to embrace the flat cap early on — tweed, felt, cotton, corduroy; I have owned them all. It was a version of the latter I wore as a hobo in Disney’s 1985 film, The Journey of Natty Gann.
I suspect the look I mimic is a nod to the working class heroes I grew up among in England — a sort of Andy Capp complex.
On the sunny but cold autumn day I made the photos above, I was likely wearing a cosy tweed “bonnet,” as they were referred to in 14th century Northern England, where the style emerged. While my day job as a commercial photographer purported to inform style, my milieu prided itself on bucking trends — at least those dictated by advertising — since we couldn’t afford its affectations anyway.
Only one other member of our Queen Street W. (AKA The Fashion District) entourage wore a hat that day and, despite its modest style — the tweed bucket hat emerged at the turn of the 20th century, on Irish farm and fishing boat — it is a wonderful counterpoint to the haute couture display in the window, notwithstanding the beauty of my model’s face.
“The rush of power to the head is not as becoming as a new hat.” ~Helen Van Slyke