When I was a kid in the seventies, we had a set of Britannica encyclopedias bound in pebbly burgundy leather. As part of the set, my parents also ordered the Book of Year, which meant that every year, my parents received a volume summarizing the events and discoveries of the previous year.
I liked looking at the Book of the Year more than the regular volumes. The year books had lots of interesting pictures, and unlike random encyclopedia volume H-J, each of these books was a complete whole.
One day as I was looking them over, I took out the one covering 1968.
“Don’t look at that one,” my mother said. “Lots of bad things happened that year.”
It’s true when we think of 1968 in America, we think of the assassination of MLK, the demonstrations at the Democratic convention, the assassination of Robert Kennedy, the continuing Vietnam war. The counterculture was raging, with hippies and drug use and psychedelic rock.
But “counterculture” must have something to run counter to, "square culture." And square culture was raging too in 1968. Richard Nixon was campaigning for President and would go on to win. Though “Hey Jude” was the Billboard top song for the year, orchestral instrumental “Love is Blue” was number two and “Honey” by Bobbie Goldsboro was number three.
When I saw this hat in the antique store, I pegged it right away as from the sixties: the material (plastic-coated straw), the shape (a modified turban). I have a weakness for light blue hats (see My Best Friend’s Wedding Hat, the Blue Straw Hat with Sequins). This one was very reasonably priced ($6.00!) and looked good on me. Plus, it was my birthday! I decided to buy it, even though I had no need for another light blue summer hat.
What clinched the deal, though, was that in the group of hatboxes below the hats, I saw one that I believe must have belonged with this very hat. Branded Marty’s, Wooster Ohio, the hat box top also had, written in ballpoint pen: Blue Summer, 1968.
Although I would have guessed this hat to be a couple of years older, more like 1965, I figured this had to be the blue hat’s box. And though the hat box, sold separately, cost almost as much as the hat itself, I HAD to get them both.
Later, I discovered that the box still contained the original receipt, marked paid, from June 1. No year given, but I assume the original owner marked up the box with the year.
And get this—I actually paid a dollar less for the hat than she did, though of course, she got the box for free.
I often feel a vintage hat is a time capsule. Fifty-three years ago, a woman in Ohio bought this hat. I don’t picture her as having gone to the Summer of Love, not with this hat. She was square culture, not counterculture. She probably went to church, or had a job where she had to look nice, and needed a stylish blue hat. She might have been black or white, old or young. She might have known someone fighting in Vietnam, a brother or son or boyfriend. If she voted, she might have voted for Nixon (who took 58% of the vote in that county) or Humphrey (37%). Hopefully, she didn’t vote for George Wallace, who got 7%.
I picture her in this hat during her summer outings: a party where she ate appetizers made on Ritz crackers, a philharmonic concert at the town bandstand, a church supper with jello salad and red punch that stained her lips. Maybe she wore it on a date to an Italian restaurant with checkered tablecloths, a candle stuck in a chianti bottle, and Dean Martin records playing in the background.
Because even against a year of great social unrest, of societal upheaval and its backlash, people still went to work, attended church, dated, packed lunches for their kids. Bought blue summer hats and lived the best lives they could. Living through another such time of upheaval, I feel as sense of kinship with the hat's original owner. As the news is full of pandemic outbreaks, voter suppression laws, refugees fleeing war and climate disaster, urgent marches for black lives and women's rights, I put on my blue hat (and my mask) and move forward.
When I saw this hat on Etsy, I thought, “That’s adorable!” There's something appealingly whimsical about this hat. I love the tiny daffodils, sunflowers, and daisies against green, like a summer meadow. This hat makes me think of warm days, a hammock, lemonade. Flying a kite.
Over the last year and a half, we’ve all been living with extra stress—sometimes a low-grade, constant background hum, sometimes a loud cacophony. So a hat that brings an air of fun and relaxation appealed to me. I dropped a hint and my wonderful husband gave it to me for my birthday. The hat is even easy to wear—I pinned it in place and forgot I was wearing it.
As I was sitting on the bench for these photos, a cat visited. Though I was petting the cat, he seemed more interested in my shoe.
Maybe that's because the magician on the shoe is changing the playing cards to fish!
Perhaps cats, like people, also enjoy a bit of whimsical fun.
(Note: the painting depicted on the shoe is by surrealist painter Michael Cheval. To see the full painting, click here).
“What was the milliner thinking?” I sometimes wonder when I look at vintage hats. Some are in unattractive styles that were unaccountably popular, and some are just weird, as I discussed in my last blog post.
When I tried on this hat, I wanted it immediately. I had very few hats with artificial flowers, and this hat fit me so comfortably. I liked its intricate woven raffia pattern. Plus, with its red, white, and blue color scheme I reasoned it would be perfect for Fourth of July.
But then I looked closer and noticed that the net hatband was…yellow? Where did yellow fit in with the combination of artificial poppies, daisies, gentians, and gardenias? Also, the flowers were not arranged symmetrically. Was that on purpose, to make it look more like a garden?
I often wonder what stories hats could tell if they could tell me their history. Were they worn once or twice and then kept in a box, or were they a favorite outfit topper? Were they designed for a specific occasion or outfit, like these bridesmaid dress hats?
(I got this image off a Bored Panda page on vintage bridesmaid dresses. It is TOTALLY worth looking at.)
What is this hat’s story? I will never know.
Despite the yellow netting, my plan was to wear this hat on the Fourth of July. However, the holiday fell on a Sunday, and a parade would be passing right by the front of the church I attend. I intended to walk around town before the parade and hopefully stay after the service a bit and watch, so I needed a hat with a brim for sun protection. I ended up wearing The White on White Hat with a red shirt and denim skirt.
Even though I wasn’t planning to wear the hat on the Fourth, I expected I would wear it with my red or my blue dress. I walked into the closet with the hat to see what it would look good with. Then I had a brain wave. I’d recently bought a yellow sundress that had red, white, and blue flowers on it. I had been so fixated on the Fourth, I hadn’t even considered the sundress.
So what was the milliner thinking? Maybe she made the hat for a dress like this!
Sometimes I see a supremely odd hat and think, “That’s so weird. I should buy it!” A hat that looks like it’s sprouting tentacles or is shaped like a giant seashell. For example, a while back, a hat came up for sale on the Goodwill site that looked like it had a dead bird on it.
I seriously thought about buying it, just because it was so weird. Then, remembering my resolution to wear every hat, I refrained. I have so many hats I love, why buy a hat that I don’t want to wear?
A couple of months ago, I was in a local antique store and came upon a wool hat that looked like half an egg. It was similar to this picture I found on Pinterest.
When I put it on, I looked like I was planning to dress as a hatching chick for Easter.
Once again, its oddity tempted me before I remembered that I would have to wear it. Back it went on the display rack.
Besides, I reminded myself, I already had this white organza hat.
I would not have set out to buy this hat. However, it was in an auction lot of Goodwill hats that contained two I was really intrigued by, the Pink Turban Toque and the Lilac Pixie Hat, and one that I was less excited by, but still happy to own, the Brown Tweed Pillbox. This white hat (and another I hope to restore) came with the group.
I see hats of this shape advertised under many different names: casque hat, half hat, Juliette cap, close hat, calot. But my favorite (though less common) name is the eggshell hat, because, well, that’s what it looks like.
It mystifies me that these type of hats were so popular. A spin through Etsy will show you several very similar to this one, in an array of colors. Maybe they were the headwear equivalent of the ugly bridesmaid’s dress. They are mostly in decent condition, perhaps because they were seldom worn—no one wanted to look like an Easter hatchling.
I didn’t either. But I figured if I was going to wear an eggshell on my head, I might as well wear the pie dress too. Though I feared I would feel ridiculous, I didn’t, once the whole outfit was together. It was fun.
Still, I draw the line at a dead bird hat.
Back at the beginning of the pandemic, I had eight more hats to go and nowhere to wear them. How would I complete the Hat Project? What was the point of wearing all my hats, if I only did so virtually? And with no church, where could I wear a fancy fascinator?
I made do. My husband took pictures of me on our porch or at the beach or in a city park. But it wasn't the same as wearing a hat in a social setting. My church spent the pandemic producing audio church, which I ended up loving to listen to lying in bed on Sunday night.
However, this February, our church started meeting outdoors. Ash Wednesday was our first service on the church lawn, but soon we were having weekly outdoor, masked, socially distanced church, and it was wonderful to see people and feel the community.
As far as hats went, though, I was restricted to wearing my sun hats because shade was limited. I wore all my favorite wide-brimmed hats. I even took a couple out of the Donate box, including the blue sequined hat.
Finally, the pandemic restrictions lifted to let us attend masked, distanced church inside our building. What a wonderful moment to be back in the sanctuary again! On the first week I attended knowing I would sit indoors, I wore this flowery orchid hat.
To me, this flowery hat symbolizes spring and renewal. I feel like the country is waking to new life after a long winter of pandemic hibernation. So I felt it was an appropriate "first hat" for this new phase.
Back when I "ended" the Hat Project, I told myself that I would only buy hats if I felt they were something special, or if they filled a hole in my collection. I received my first orange hat for Christmas. My husband also gave me a gift card to a local antique store. I spent part of it on a couple of hats, including this one, which is my first all-over flowery hat. It's completely covered with purple-and-pink-tinged silk orchids. It's so spring-like, I chose to wear it in my church's virtual video of "Easter Song." I would have worn the flowered lilac pixie that was my Easter hat this year, but for the Christmas video, the top of my Christmas tree fascinator got cut off, so I knew I needed a flatter hat!
When I was a kid, I loved going to my great aunt Doris’ house. She had a lovely hillside garden with steps leading down from my grandparent’s house to hers. A rope swing with a round wooden seat hung from a leafy tree, ready for a spin. But the real wonders were inside. As soon as I walked in the kitchen (family and friends always used back doors in this town) I’d start spying her collection: cows. Every room had shelves full of cow figurines. Cream pitchers, their spouts bovine mouths. A cow cookie jar. I think she even had a cow clock. An overwhelming display of black-spotted white, with hints of pink udders. I was never invited to touch any of them, so I’d stand in front of them, marveling.
Her husband, my uncle Dunk, drove a milk truck, a shiny tanker with the slogan “Every Body Needs Milk” on the side. And because of his profession, collecting cows became Aunt Doris' hobby. I’m not sure how it started. But by the time I knew her, if someone wanted to get Aunt Doris a gift, they’d get her a cow. Cows were her thing.
I wonder now whether she grew tired of all the cows, but family and friends had given her so many she had to keep displaying them.
With the cautionary example of Aunt Doris in mind, I’ve always tried to keep hat swag to a minimum. Especially as much of it is so frou-frou: big flowery hats on brooches or figurines or silk scarfs. The Red Hat society has engendered a flood of red-hat-themed merch, none of which appeals to me. Neither am I interested in top hats, baseball caps, or cowboy hats (though I did buy some of those shapes of cookie cutters for my planned post-pandemic hat party).
I love hats, not hat tchotchkes.
Right now, aside from the cookie cutters, I have very few hat mementos, though it could be that I've forgotten a few.
I have a hat Christmas ornament I bought long ago on a holiday trip to Mendocino:
I sometimes wear a knitted hat brooch I bought as a souvenir in Uruguay. You can see it in the photo for The Black Hat with Pearls. It's not very large:
And finally, there’s the lady’s head hat vase at the top of this post. I saw one of these vases on Instagram and instantly wanted one. When I searched on Etsy, I found a bunch. Apparently, they were quite popular in the fifties and early sixties in floral shops. Unfortunately, most were of pink-hatted Gibson Girl types that Angela Lansbury might have posed for. Some reminded me of Marie Antoinette. But when I spotted this lady, I knew she was perfect. She looked like a sophisticated woman about town, maybe sporting a postwar New Look suit. I was coming to the “end” of the Hat Project and bought the vase as a commemoration.
The other day in a vintage clothing store, I came across a cute dress. Mind you, I have a lot of dresses, and don't wear them as often as I should. But I was tempted. I liked the pattern, of stylish ladies. One of them was wearing a hat! I held the dress up to me, dithering.
Then I thought of Aunt Doris, and her rows of cows, and put the dress back. Don't want to overdo the hat swag.
I got this hat in the fall, and have been saving it to wear at Easter. The Birthday Cake Hat and the Fortieth Birthday Hat that I wore the past two years are statement hats, as is common for the holiday. This year I opted for what I think is called a pixie hat
The hat came from the same Goodwill lot that contained the Camel Cloche, the Pink Turban Toque, the Brown Tweed Pillbox, and two other hats. I had been looking for a turban, so the turban toque caught my eye, but the hat that really intrigued me was this lilac one, with its strange dome shape. "That would make a perfect Easter hat," I thought. Yes, it was pastel purple and had flowers on it, but the kicker was its shape--it looks like a giant Easter egg.
Of course, you can't assess condition very well at the online Goodwill, and so, because I had built up my hopes about this hat, I was disappointed when it arrived to find it worse for wear. It was dented and its top had obviously been crushed in its past.
I wondered if I could fix it. I read up on restoring straw hats in my hatmaking book and watched demonstrations on YouTube. They claimed you could restore the shape of a straw hat by steaming it, reshaping it, and letting it dry, so I decided to try with this hat. I used a teakettle for a nice constant source of steam. The hat book said that after steaming and reshaping, you should dry the hat on a hat block, the wooden form that milliners use to shape hats.
I don't have a hat block, and even if I did, I wouldn't have one for this hat's unusual dome shape. So I did the best I could, improvising with a bowl.
Then I fired up the teakettle, ready to repair a hat in my kitchen. I held the hat so the steam hit the underside and gradually the straw became pliable. I smoothed the top, which previous crushes had made uneven. I tugged at the dented side. The hat seemed to be working with me--it was like it remembered its former shape and wanted to be back in it. The hat book and blogs had said this process would occur because of the stiffener that had originally been used to shape it. I didn't believe it, though, until I saw it happen.
When I had done the best I could, I put it on my makeshift hat block to dry. I was amazed at the improvement.
The dent was gone, the top a smooth egg shape again. I left it to dry in the kitchen.
This story doesn't have a completely happy ending, though. Because I didn't have the right shaped block to support the dome, as it dried, some of the unevenness returned. The dented side was fixed, because the bowl shaped it as it dried. But without support, the hat that had remembered its original shape also remembered the damage it had sustained. The dome puckered in the places it had been crushed. So, while the hat was much better than before the steam process, it was not as smooth as before it dried.
I suppose I could try again. Perhaps I could carve foam into the proper shape and use that as a block for the re-steamed hat. But this hat is likely older than I am, dating from the late fifties to early sixties. Like this hat, and people everywhere, I am carrying around my own record of damage, remembering crushing events despite how much support and care I've received in my life. I'm cutting this hat some slack and not expecting like-new perfection.
However, though perfection is not possible, renewal is. As the hills turn green and the trees leaf out and the lilacs bloom, I'm reminded not to discount the power of the earth and people to be healed. Even a dented hat can find new life.
When I was in high school, I had a brown tweed blazer I loved. I wore it with brown pants and brown shoes and felt that I was grown-up, classic, sophisticated. To me, that brown tweed jacket represented the advice I read in ladies’ magazines: buy basic pieces that you can wear forever.
Now I wonder why the hell I was dressing for forever in high school. Around me, my peers wore tulle miniskirts and ripped gloves, emulating Cyndi Lauper and Madonna.
Of course, I wore my share of jeans. I also had some black parachute pants (look it up, younglings!) with a cummerbund waist, which I wore with a tuxedo shirt and a black ribbon tie. But nothing made me feel both comfortable and grown up the way that tweed blazer did.
I might have had another reason for preferring brown in high school—with my brown hair and brown eyes, I could disappear in brown. Many times disappearing was my highest goal. Some other kids got sentimental about their high school graduation, but I hardly was. Bring on college, I thought. Bring on adulthood.
As I grew older, I stopped wanting to fade into the background. My Sunday hats were part of that—no one who wears a hat expects to be unnoticed, except maybe at the Kentucky Derby. I rarely bought brown clothing. You can catch sight of a brown denim jacket in The Floppy Red Hat and a brown tank in The Black Hat with Scarf. The vintage Pendleton jacket in The Brown Wool Hat was a gift which has become a favorite casual fall and winter jacket for me.
So, when I bought the online Goodwill lot that included this pillbox (as well as The Pale Pink Turban Toque), I no longer got excited about brown tweed. I could tell it was a quality hat in the listing, even with the lousy listing pictures. It’s by a company named Utah Tailoring Mills, which was known for their high-end suits. Movie stars and socialites wore Utah Tailoring Mills clothing. One of their vintage suits is for sale on Etsy for almost four hundred dollars.
Given the maker, I imagine the hat might have originally had a matching suit. These small pillboxes that matched suits were popular in the late fifties and early sixties.
Here's Doris Day in Midnight Lace, from 1960, suitably suited up to tell Scotland Yard she’s receiving threatening phone calls.
I can just imagine a similar suit/hat in two brown tweeds.
I don't own such a suit, but recently I came upon this vintage goldish boucle suit in an antique store and bought it on impulse. Although this suit is not in one my usual colors, I couldn't resist buying it, partly because it reminded me of a suit my Grandma Hillesland is wearing (with cateye glasses) in an old photograph. From the color, collar shape, and material, I'm guessing the suit is of a later vintage than the hat, but it's as close as I can come.
Here's a closer look at the hat, where you can see the contrasting tweeds, one on the side and the other on the top and the decoration.
I can’t say I ever aspired to wear a turban. Oh, sure, as a girl I mocked up one for a Barbie doll using one of her sparkly halter dresses. But for me, turbans on white women maintained an old-lady vibe.
When I thought of turbans, I pictured Gloria Swanson as Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard.
Then I got The Beaded Slumber Cap and, wondering if it was a turban, started researching them. I came across some wonderful pictures of Elizabeth Taylor decked out in turbans. Here’s one that I didn’t use in the slumber cap post:
Another great turban wearer? Barbra Streisand. I remembered some of her turbans from her album covers (as a girl, I loved singing to my mother’s Streisand albums).
All of these women have a certain diva quality. And so I came to think of turbans, not as a sign of aging, but a sign of confidence. These are all women who can own whatever they wear.
Now more interested in the style, I started keeping an eye out for a vintage turban. When a small Goodwill lot of hats came up including this pink hat, I bid.
Of course, in an online Goodwill auction, you can’t examine the goods for condition issues. In fact, you can’t even be sure exactly what they look like since the photos are often poor and incomplete. Nevertheless, I bid on the hat lot (which also included The Camel Cloche), liking most of the hats and being especially interested in a couple of them, including this one.
When I got the hats, I discovered that this hat was more structured than it appeared in the pictures. Though draped like a turban, it has the underpinnings of a toque.
So maybe I can call it semi-diva. And maybe as I get older, I’m becoming a bit semi-diva myself.
This hat was made by Patrice, the company that also made the Hat I’ll Never Regret Buying. The bows make the two hats, maybe not sisters, but cousins. In fact, in style this hat is also similar to last year’s red velvet Valentine’s Day hat. So maybe it fits that this pink turban toque is my Valentine’s hat this year.
For years, I haven’t been interested in going out for a fancy dinner on Valentine’s Day. Too crowded. A pandemic Valentine’s will be right up my alley. Five years ago, still unpacking boxes after our recent move, tired and disoriented, my husband and I went out for pizza on Valentine’s Day. Maybe we’ll grab a pizza again this year and raise a glass to quarantining with someone you love.
My husband is wonderful. From the beginning of The Hat Project, he has taken all the photos with great patience and creativity. He came up with the mirror pose in The Black Hat with Pearls, the doorway shot in The White Bonus Ring Hat, and the railway background for The Blue Straw Hat with Sequins.
He has also been a very good sport about the hat accumulation as I’ve shoehorned additional boxes into our guest room closet.
This Christmas, he gave me:
The hat book gave me a much greater appreciation of the work that goes into a handmade hat. I am not planning to start blocking my own felt, but I do want to be able to clean and fix some of my older hats. With the recent Goodwill lot that included The Camel Cloche I got a couple of hats that need some love and restoration.
I gave him some links to hats that interested me, including this orange beret. At this point, I am mostly looking for types of hats I don’t already own. Though I love little black hats, I have a lot of them. However, because I didn’t have any orange hats (the closest was The Bubble Hat, which has an orange ribbon) I was attracted by this one. I also liked its materials. I have another Woven Ribbon Hat, but it uses natural fibers and has quite a different vibe. Cello straw (the artificial straw used in one of my grandma’s hats) can be very shiny and artificial looking, as it is here. But it was the sixties. Plastic was stylish! And thanks to its classic shape, this vintage beret still feels stylish today, as I discovered when I wore it to the farmer’s market.
Some other hat types I’m on the lookout for: I’d like a vintage hat with a lot of artificial flowers. I had my eye out for a turban-style hat, but I recently bought one. I’d like another green hat. As they say in the fine print, this is not a complete list. I figure I’ll know a hat I want when I see it. Hats, after all, are about love. You never quite know what you’re going to fall for.
Fortunately, when I fell for my husband, I fell for someone great.
Ann Hillesland writes fiction and nonfiction and collects hats. In this blog she vows to wear (not just model, but wear out of the house) every one of her hats, blogging about their histories and their meanings for her.