STYLE: FASHION : A Matter of Hats
"If a woman rebels against high-heeled shoes, she should take care to do
it in a very smart hat." --George Bernard Shaw
Try calling up a department store and asking for the millinery department. Whatever the telephone equivalent of a blank stare is, that's what you'll get. Baseball caps are omnipresent, but when it comes to millinery , ours is a lost generation. In 30 years' time, we have strayed from Jackie's elegant, understated pillbox to Hillary's big blue halo. The nation that once celebrated the Easter Parade has forgotten the ancient art and custom of hat-wearing.
Try calling up a department store and asking for the millinery department. Whatever the telephone equivalent of a blank stare is, that's what you'll get. Baseball caps are omnipresent, but when it comes to millinery , ours is a lost generation. In 30 years' time, we have strayed from Jackie's elegant, understated pillbox to Hillary's big blue halo. The nation that once celebrated the Easter Parade has forgotten the ancient art and custom of hat-wearing.
Choose a reason: convertibles, the women's movement, blow-dryers, sun
worship. I've watched a young woman with an earring in her nose and a Madonna
midriff stop at a hat display and announce with true alarm: "Oh, God, I
couldn't wear a hat! I don't want people looking at me."
Women run movie studios, construction companies, major cities and the Justice Department, yet they're too timid to step outside with a yard of shaped felt on their heads. An indignant woman once demanded to know--anonymously, of course--how I could call myself a feminist and wear a hat.
The chain of hat wisdom--once handed down from mother to daughter like folk remedies and the secret to keeping the point on a tube of lipstick--has been broken. Unschooled women slap velour numbers with graceful Gainsborough brims onto the backs of their heads as though they were Heidi going off to milk the goats. They wear berets tight at the base and puffed up at the top like a mushroom. They show up at weddings in $500 dresses and straw beach hats with "Bermuda" stitched along the crown in bright yarn.
"There's one thing about hats," says Susan Greenberg Ryza, owner of Inglewood-based Toucan, a new line of affordable hats. "Everybody thinks people in other places wear them. When you're in New York, they say: 'People in L.A. wear hats; nobody wears them here. L.A. is so glamorous. ' Here, people say: 'They don't wear hats in L.A.; it's so casual. They wear them in New York.' "
So where do they go, these bi-coastal phantom hats? They appear in stores, then they're gone. Hats are seen in many African-American churches: From the choir loft on some Sundays, the congregation looks like a garden of bright, swaying flowers. But if a hat shows up in a glossy fashion photograph, you'll seldom read how much it costs or where it's sold.
I like wearing hats, in part because women no longer have to wear them. A hat defines one's personal space. A hat is warmth and shade, and, under a hat, there is no such thing as a bad-hair day. For those who, like me, have sensitive eyes or skin, a hat protects and conceals. And no matter how your diet goes, a hat always fits just right.
Hat names are like ice cream in the mouth: cloche, casquette , toque, mousquetaire , bicorne , canotier . . . a lost language. Women once wore hats as men now wear ties: to express sophistication, daring, authority, chic, whimsy--or plain, old smart-ass attitude. As hat wearers disappear, hat-makers have had a rough go--mostly out of business.
Women run movie studios, construction companies, major cities and the Justice Department, yet they're too timid to step outside with a yard of shaped felt on their heads. An indignant woman once demanded to know--anonymously, of course--how I could call myself a feminist and wear a hat.
The chain of hat wisdom--once handed down from mother to daughter like folk remedies and the secret to keeping the point on a tube of lipstick--has been broken. Unschooled women slap velour numbers with graceful Gainsborough brims onto the backs of their heads as though they were Heidi going off to milk the goats. They wear berets tight at the base and puffed up at the top like a mushroom. They show up at weddings in $500 dresses and straw beach hats with "Bermuda" stitched along the crown in bright yarn.
"There's one thing about hats," says Susan Greenberg Ryza, owner of Inglewood-based Toucan, a new line of affordable hats. "Everybody thinks people in other places wear them. When you're in New York, they say: 'People in L.A. wear hats; nobody wears them here. L.A. is so glamorous. ' Here, people say: 'They don't wear hats in L.A.; it's so casual. They wear them in New York.' "
So where do they go, these bi-coastal phantom hats? They appear in stores, then they're gone. Hats are seen in many African-American churches: From the choir loft on some Sundays, the congregation looks like a garden of bright, swaying flowers. But if a hat shows up in a glossy fashion photograph, you'll seldom read how much it costs or where it's sold.
I like wearing hats, in part because women no longer have to wear them. A hat defines one's personal space. A hat is warmth and shade, and, under a hat, there is no such thing as a bad-hair day. For those who, like me, have sensitive eyes or skin, a hat protects and conceals. And no matter how your diet goes, a hat always fits just right.
Hat names are like ice cream in the mouth: cloche, casquette , toque, mousquetaire , bicorne , canotier . . . a lost language. Women once wore hats as men now wear ties: to express sophistication, daring, authority, chic, whimsy--or plain, old smart-ass attitude. As hat wearers disappear, hat-makers have had a rough go--mostly out of business.
Renowned New York milliner Frank Olive once told me there are too many chiefs
and not enough Indians in the business, that everyone wants to be a designer but
few want to master the painstaking milliner's art: draping and shaping with
blocks, hoods and flares. No one, he sighed, knows how to make a Charlotte
Corday bow anymore.
He is talking about the difference between millinery and hats, between couture and trend, Chanel and The Gap. Each has its place but should not be confused with the other. (Prices help you avoid this. The more numbers to the left of the decimal, the more likely it is to be millinery.)
L.A.'s most venerable millinery salon was the Bullock's Wilshire French Room, where the likes of Dorothy Parker once shopped for grand chapeaux. Still under the knowledgeable Russell Brock, autocrat of local millinery, the salon is now squeezed into a gallery at I. Magnin in Pasadena. At the other end of the style spectrum is the new generation, including Drea Kadilak in Los Angeles, where hats are funky and playful, hats as clothes toys.
Your style probably lies somewhere in between. So should you care to join the hat-wearing ranks, here are some basics to keep in mind:
* Know your coloring and facial shape; not every hat suits every face.
* Look at your prospective new hat from all sides--everyone else will. Use a hand-held mirror as well as a full-length mirror.
* Give the hat a chance; move it around to find the best angle for you. Faces are not symmetrical, so most hats should not sit squarely on the head. Leave that to forest rangers.
* Put your hair up, pull it back, whatever works with the hat.
* Wear any elastic under your hair, not under your chin.
* Try a hat pin for a wonderful feeling of personal security.
* Don't believe one size fits all. Most hats labeled that way are Size 21; my head is a 22 1/2. Big hats can sometimes be taken in; small hats may be stretched.
* Don't hang a good hat on a rack; it will get dusty and lose its shape. Store it in a hatbox, preferably with acid-free paper.
* And never chew gum in a veiled hat.
He is talking about the difference between millinery and hats, between couture and trend, Chanel and The Gap. Each has its place but should not be confused with the other. (Prices help you avoid this. The more numbers to the left of the decimal, the more likely it is to be millinery.)
L.A.'s most venerable millinery salon was the Bullock's Wilshire French Room, where the likes of Dorothy Parker once shopped for grand chapeaux. Still under the knowledgeable Russell Brock, autocrat of local millinery, the salon is now squeezed into a gallery at I. Magnin in Pasadena. At the other end of the style spectrum is the new generation, including Drea Kadilak in Los Angeles, where hats are funky and playful, hats as clothes toys.
Your style probably lies somewhere in between. So should you care to join the hat-wearing ranks, here are some basics to keep in mind:
* Know your coloring and facial shape; not every hat suits every face.
* Look at your prospective new hat from all sides--everyone else will. Use a hand-held mirror as well as a full-length mirror.
* Give the hat a chance; move it around to find the best angle for you. Faces are not symmetrical, so most hats should not sit squarely on the head. Leave that to forest rangers.
* Put your hair up, pull it back, whatever works with the hat.
* Wear any elastic under your hair, not under your chin.
* Try a hat pin for a wonderful feeling of personal security.
* Don't believe one size fits all. Most hats labeled that way are Size 21; my head is a 22 1/2. Big hats can sometimes be taken in; small hats may be stretched.
* Don't hang a good hat on a rack; it will get dusty and lose its shape. Store it in a hatbox, preferably with acid-free paper.
* And never chew gum in a veiled hat.
