An Honest Plea on Behalf of Women's Hats

I know some of you may have stumbled here by accident. Some may have just been curious. Others might have more personal reasons for finding this post. Whatever the circumstance, I welcome you. This might be a little bit weird, but try to withhold judgement until you've heard me out.

I think we should bring back the hat.

There I've said it. I don't know why this is such a provocative statement, but apparently it is. Now, I know there will be outcries of inconvenience, of feminism, of suffrage, of hair-styling. Women worked long and hard to be able to have freedom in how they dress. To be free from "antiquated -  unrealistic - uncomfortable ideals" of beauty. Given the rates of eating and anxiety disorders, I don't think we've really won. But I really don't understand the absence of female brims in the cyclical drama of dressing! Why have they been suspiciously absent since the early 60's?

Whilst I have never had an existential crisis about fashion, I do understand that it can be fraught with tension. It can be a passionately defended dogma. Please save any yelling for the comments.

Look at those options!

Men can still wear hats in most cultures around the world. Even in Western cultures like the UK and the US, there has been a resurgence in the range of fashionable toppers. The fedora enjoyed a brief renaissance before being ruined by hipsters and pick up artists. The same can be said for the classic top hat and more recently the bowler. Even the humble pork pie was making homes on the glossy strands of the male songsters for the last two decades.

What did women get out of this period in time? Trucker hats. Beanies. Furry things with ears.

This thing?

None of these were formal or classic. They were comfortable, and I guess sometimes fashionable, but they didn't really elevate our outfits. We also got the fedora, but by the time we started wearing it, it was already trending downward. The only place you can routinely spot beautiful millinery in the United States is at the Kentucky Derby. And even they are being overrun with fake celebrities (who ruin just about everything) showing up in monstrosities because they heard that having the biggest hat wins. No amount of true feminine class could compensate for these venomous style vultures!

Some will correctly point out that France, Britain, Russia and even parts of Australia and Canada still regularly display formal caps at prestigious events. This is true. Japan also has a very demure attitude toward hats, and their Empress Michiko displays hers beautifully!

We had a lovely British royal wedding a few years ago, which should have heralded the rise of fancy formal hats. Instead we were treated to sculptural pieces disguised as headgear! The obvious exception there was the Queen, who clearly knows how to display a classy chapeau. She was raised in an era where it was just another accessory; where learning how to wear it properly was vital and routine.

I didn't want to make fun of the younger royals, at least they were trying to honor the tradition. I just wish they hadn't tried to modernize it. God may save the Queen, but we should have been saved from "Fascinators" -  or what I like to call Hat Fraud. They are basically headbands with things attached. They look like awkward hair accessories. They were a terrible compromise and an insult to genuine hat appreciation.

Hats can occasionally be works of art, rather than just a functional, fashionable item. Those pieces are for very special occasions like gallery openings or red carpets. They serve the express purpose of attracting attention for the attention-seekers who wear them. They can also showcase a designer and their talents, all of which is laudable. But they are not what hats used to be. These new breed are the equivalent of wearing an outfit straight from the catwalk to Costco. These are just not everyday kind of headpieces!

Like this, but on your head.

I have illustrated why I believe hats have been relegated to the fringes of our fashion lives. They were either too weird, too unwieldy or too fluffy! We are left with the same terrible hat choices like baseball caps or slouchy beanies. We wear them to hide our hair on bad hair days or keep our ears warm in cold weather. We may find the odd "fashion" hat at older department stores, but they often look sad or oddly shaped, like they are trying too hard.

You know who you are.

Most new hats I could purchase right this minute look terrible. But that does not mean that all hats are bad! The solution? We should go back to what works. There are hundreds, thousands, of TV shows and movies across the globe set in the period between about 1920 and 1961. They are often set in America or the UK or someplace that people think of as modern for the time. In truth, fashion spread with the advent of newsreels and motion pictures. People all over the world probably agreed on more than they disagreed with in this period of time, at least when it came to hair covering.

What's truly amazing is if you happen to stumble across a vintage hat now - and I do mean vintage, not a reproduction that's been "fixed up", etc. - they look great with everything. They are as comfortable as your favorite pair of jeans or fluffy boots. I am not saying that every hat from that era fits everyone perfectly, everything has to be suited to you: your features, your style, your hair, your personality, everything.

But once you find a vintage hat that becomes you, makes your face look amazing, highlights your hair, shows off your neck or your cheekbones or a million other tiny details that you will appreciate instantly, it is one of the most sensational feelings in the world.

I know women who continuously search for that perfect pair of pumps that go with everything, and this is no different. Only in this case, almost no one knows they should be looking! Magazines and starlets and designers probably want to "invent trends" or "make money" and there's hardly anything to be gained from used hats, I'm sure. Worse, the ability to create them properly has been lost to some degree, simply from lack of demand. Fashion schools probably do still offer courses but how many people are alive to teach them? I refer to professional milliners who learned and apprenticed in a shop with a master? Much like handmade leather shoes, there seems to be few who can afford such a luxury item, as it would doubtlessly now be seen.

When hats were created in the past, they had to be made on a large scale, so they were hardly all custom jobs. I really do compare it to the perfect pair of jeans. Yes, some people spend thousands, but some find their perfect pair at a thrift shop or for twenty dollars at a department store. Hats used to be that common, and I think they should be again. Not only for fashion reasons, but also for historical purposes as well.

Hats are the only fashion accessory that I can think of (that didn't kill or maim, and no hatpins don't count!) to not make some sort of comeback or be refreshed in popularity. Women have reclaimed everything from corsets to high heels to men's clothing, and at least one of those used to be deadly! We have sacrificed for beauty. Yet the proper everyday hat remains stubbornly absent from our wardrobes.

So I will end with a plea. If you happen to see a hat for sale that looks a bit used or worn, but is clearly well made, try it on. I know you may have to practice new hairstyles that will work with it, or learn how to wear it properly. I know not every hat will be a winner. But try them all. When you find one you like, please buy it. Help preserve the heritage. Then we will at least have examples of how it should be done properly. Wear your hat with confidence. If you already have a budding collection like I do, wear them proudly and often. Let's bring the hat back from obscurity and back into fashion.

Who doesn't want to be a little more mysterious and alluring?

Following Mutely

What's up with Twitter?

Has anyone else noticed that getting followers on Twitter is getting more expensive every day?
Every other thing I see is how to gain followers fast, buy followers, automatic tweets and follows and unfollows and promoted tweets and... I just don't know.

Back in my day...

When I first found Twitter, back in mid-2009, everything was so pure and honest. No one "bought followers", you just made friends, connections. If people liked your content, you had lots of followers. If you were just so-so, you didn't have as many.

I see accounts that have thousands, or even hundreds of thousands of followers. How many of those accounts are bots? Do the people with those follower numbers even care? Is their brand or message even reaching real people? Does that eve matter - if you have enough followers to start a small city? These are questions I care about!

I didn't really have anyone on separate lists, beyond maybe really funny people getting their own list, or really scary Tweeps, or pretty or cool, etc. But those were mostly lists that other people followed. Those lists were curated to direct attention to people based on their strengths or personalities.

When I logged in last week, I saw someone had added me to a list. Well, that's nice, I thought! I noticed the list had several thousand members and was followed by maybe 12. I'm extremely grateful, obviously. I love when people interact, however they choose to do so. I began to think about the point of the list. Was it just to organize and collect names? Were people actually seriously interested in whatever the list was for and it was just a small group? I still don't know what I did to earn my place. On Twitter, I even asked "is putting me on a list but not following me" was some sort of commitment phobia. I still don't know. But I care about the answer.

How would you feel if you found out you were Muted or on a list people never checked?

I would think, probably weird right? Shouldn't the goal be to write things that people ultimately want to read? Or at least to find the people who want to read what you write?

Timeless Characters and First Loves

Something very interesting happens at the beginning of "The League of Frightened Men" by Rex Stout. Archie Goodwin is discussing his inability to read books.

He scans the newspaper, and most days reads it thoroughly. But with books, he finds them to be pointless, "...there's nothing alive about it, it's all dead and gone...". This of course made me wonder how he would feel now, with his character still in print, still being read and loved by millions (or possibly just me?), but still quite vibrant and full of sparks.

I think it's great how you can read any Rex Stout book featuring Nero and Archie, and without much effort, you are instantly transported to a world you feel at home in. Obviously there is an element of nostalgia. But there is more: the feel of the words, pictures they summon, the emotions they create.

The memories are not limited to what's between the pages, but also what's between the lines -  our own memories from previous readings. This got me thinking about the past and the first time I read this particular book.

I remember finding it on my grandparents' attic bookshelf. They weren't big on keeping "popular" books around the house. Often the editions were rare, valuable or collectible. But this one slightly scuffed paperback was resting on a lower shelf, alone, and fairly unimportant looking. Still, it peeked out and seemed to say, "It's alright, I'm not anything fancy, you can pick me up and you won't get in trouble. Give us a try."

I studied the cover and consulted the copyright page. It was from Great Britain, an edition from the 1970's. I made my way downstairs and politely asked my grandmother, "May I please read this? I found it upstairs. It didn't look important, so I thought it might be ok? I'll put it back when I'm done, I promise!"

Taking it from me she smiled at the cover, as if it were a lost friend, rediscovered. She expressed puzzlement that I had found it upstairs. "All of these were moved, I thought. But certainly, go ahead and read it if you like. Now, Oreo or chocolate chip?"

I would later learn the rest had been moved to my grandparents' room so my grandmother could read them while she was recovering from some ailment. This lone text had apparently been separated from its brethren during their migration from attic to bedroom. After explaining that I should deposit it with her when I finished it, she sent me off to the back room with cookies and my discovery.

Unfortunately, the reasons for my being there that day are gone from my mental files, but I know it was raining. That probably explained why I happened to be hunting for something to do or read in the first place.

I know she was babysitting me for some reason, which was unusual. I don't remember how old I was, but given that the cookie stage ran out at my grandparents' house sometime around eight or nine, I must have been a bit younger than that. I recall that I could still fit my entire body into one square cushion of the old, brown, corduroy sofa.

There I sat. I opened the soft paper cover, displayed a slightly yellowing first page, and just like that... my life had irrevocably changed.

Over the course of that plate of cookies and probably three or four hours of reading, I met Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin. I had been introduced to Fritz Brenner and his magical cooking skills. I had cautiously greeted Inspector Cramer. I heard about Theodore Horstmann and the ten-thousand orchids. I had been invited into the old Brownstone on West 35th Street in New York City. I had toured the office, the dining room, the kitchen, the front room, the elevator and briefly spied the bedrooms, I had made the acquaintance of dozens of new words such as Odontoglossum and Cattleya and gullery. This was especially fascinating, as I thought I already knew all of the words I would ever need.

By the time I put the book down, dusk had come, the rain had stopped and I was breathless with excitement. I knew that there were more of these books somewhere and now I needed more. I had to know if every book was as beautiful, if every story was - as Wolfe would say - satisfactory. But it was almost dinner time and I would be leaving soon. I handed the book back to my grandmother, who immediately put it with her (unknown to me) treasured collection. My adventure suspended.

Thankfully, the suspension did not last long. The very next day, I went to the library, with my mother as my escort. I was free to choose my selection, as always. I made my way immediately to the S's and scooped up all five of the books they had available. I still didn't know how many there were, but even those five seemed like a bounty.

I was so used to characters that only had one story, or perhaps two. I had read a few serials, but most of the time the library would have one book in a series (the most recent) and little else. When I consulted my mother over my choices, she smiled and said, "I remember reading these." That alone was encouragement enough. If two generations of my family could smile at the covers; the silent recommendation spoke volumes to me.

I read all of them. I had to request books from libraries all over the state. In the days before email, I can only imagine the long distance charges and faxes that had to be exchanged. But it was worth it. In time, I came to own all of the stories; books, anthologies, omnibuses. This was almost two decades ago now, but I still read them.

I have plenty of other things I read, mostly only once or twice. I read new books all the time and I think I have over a thousand ebooks on my Kindle, roughly half of which are still waiting for attention. But never confuse quantity for quality, especially in literature.

There are very few authors that merit re-reading in my world. Neal Stephenson's novels, Night of the Avenging Blowfish by John Welter (which I highly recommend), all of the different Nancy Drew series, Dave Barry, a few others. Most of these I reread once or twice a year, when the mood strikes.

Then there is Rex Stout. Almost without fail, I cycle through over 70 Nero Wolfe short story trios and novels - which takes about a month - in order of publication. I probably do this anywhere from half a dozen to a dozen times a year. I still find words that I don't know occasionally, scenes that I find a deeper meaning in, little flourishes I somehow missed. For what they are, that alone is unexpected and magical. They are just that good.

TL;DR -
What was the first book that had an impact on you?
What was the first book you can remember being attached to?
What was the most important book you read as a child?
What was the book that led you to love reading or writing?

- Hope

Comment here, or on Twitter @nonsteader

I would love to know, and I look forward to hearing from you!!