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In
Style, from the Top Down Whether it was straw, cloth or silk, their brims made a statement: Simple elegance came to my mind. But for Maisie Russell, one of the organizers, it was like joining the cast of a Hepburn movie. She was speechless. "There are not enough words to explain how I felt when I saw all those ladies coming in their hats and gloves," said Russell, part owner of The Hat Place in Rocky Hill, the sponsor of this fund-raiser for the American Cancer Society. The hat wearers stepping out at the "High Tea Affair" brought with them sunny dispositions on an otherwise rainy afternoon. It took me back to my childhood, when the annual Easter parade was a rite of passage between cold dreary winters and hot summers. We took off our fur earmuffs and knitted caps for a style of hat that required the wearer to walk with straight back and head held high. I thought about my trips to Sears, J.C. Penney and the now-defunct Montgomery Ward, usually around Easter or the end of summer, to shop for hats, coats with velvet collars, patent leather shoes, kiddy pocketbooks and fancy gloves. The hats were my favorites, but I'll come back to that later. Everyone at the fund-raiser had "hattitude" - a term used by a woman named Deirdre Guion in the book of photographs titled "Crowns: Portraits of Black Women in Church Hats." But this event in Hartford, though sponsored by a black-owned hat company, transcended age and ethnicity. Just about everyone there shared a love for hats. We came to sip tea and to show off. Wearing hats and even gloves wasn't required but "encouraged" at this $50-a-plate affair. This seasoned crowd, all dolled up, knew exactly what it meant to wear a hat and to "style it right," as the old folks used to say. I scanned the room and felt right at home. I noticed that some hat wearers selected very fine, straw full-brims, decorated with bows and flowers, from places as far away as England and as close as Rocky Hill. I saw antique pillboxes with delicate veils, dusted off for the occasion. Then, of course, others were crowned with flamboyant styles, bright colors and giant brims or traditional straw weaves adorned simply with bows and ribbons. The few men sporting toppers kept them simple and straw. I considered my high-top black bonnet, an original created by a Nigerian designer named Franca, one of the best creations in the hall. But none of us touched Essie Styles, a grand lady dressed in violet. Her dress, heels and hat - which sprouted flowers from its brim - were all the same hue. She beat all of us who secretly competed in the hat contest. Styles' violet gloves and pocketbook put her ensemble over the top. As I sipped ice tea and ate finger sandwiches, I drifted into a sad place in my mind. I thought of the girls and boys today who hardly get dressed up. I wondered what our society loses when we fail to teach our children, both girls and boys, how to dress up. When my mother first dressed me as if I were a lady, I owned the title. I liked the ruffled slips under my dresses, the white gloves and shiny shoes, and of course, the hat, even if the elastic band pinched under my chin until I held my head up the right way. I even had etiquette classes, although I didn't know it at the time. Our classes started as little tea parties, after a morning of cleaning our family's silver. Then, we'd get dressed up and sit at a perfectly set dining room table at our home in Cleveland. My mother taught me to sit up straight, to keep my napkin in my lap and my elbows off the table. Later, as I started to pay more attention to fashion, I secretly despised the fact that my mother demanded I separate my clothes inside my closet. I had school clothes, church clothes, holiday clothes and play clothes, which fell at the bottom of the fashion line. Now I question how society has reversed those rigid rules, inspired to preserve the good stuff for special occasions, to such an extreme that it's hard sometimes to tell our boys from our girls. As I grew into womanhood, I rebelled and secretly carried my jeans to high school in a brown paper bag. That seems so silly now. It wasn't until I was well into my 20s that the lessons of all those childhood mandatory etiquette classes kicked in. I found myself, year after year, shopping for that smart-looking but affordable bonnet that fit my reporter's salary. Since the news business tends to be more casual (for print reporters, anyway) than corporate America, I developed a cover story to downplay my fascination with the finer things, particularly my pearls and my hats. "Oh, that's my car hat," I'll say, slinging it onto my already cluttered desk. "It's hot out there." The truth is, wearing hats - whether straw or sable - is like collecting fine art for me. Wearing those things gives me a sense of dignity that no baseball cap or head rag, worn by pop stars and city girls, could ever do. I want an original or at least a limited edition. When I see young women walking the streets with rags on their heads, I pity them for lacking style. But some days, I think maybe everything is not lost. Those are days I see mothers passing on the traditions of prissy dress, hats and shiny shoes to their daughters. Young girls wearing hats are appealing to them. I stopped in awe to watch Jaime Lee Pimienta's daughter. Armani, 9, wore a hat to match her rhinestone denim short set. The girl was just crossing the street, but I smiled inside because it was the first sunny day in late June, and she marked the occasion wearing a hat. "That's my little Tallulah belle," says Pimienta, a Colombian native who has lived in Hartford most of her 31 years. No skimpy/sexy Britney Spears clothing for Armani. She is my kind of girlie-girl, who seeks out the feminine fashions. Her mother encourages her: "I try to match their hats and shades with what they are wearing." I was even more impressed when Pimienta told me her fashion advice has a purpose. "I tell them, let's make sure our clothes are nice and clean. So people won't think just because you are poor, we don't have any taste. Make yourself look pretty like a little girl." Often, in church, I'll see other little girls just like Armani, and my young friend Prentiss, wearing the kind of clothing my mother used to buy. I asked Andrea Brown Seldon, the mother of another young princess, why she dressed her daughter, Alana, the way she does. Her answer fit the mode of my upbringing: It's a lesson in being a lady. "You have to be taught when you are young. Part of the lesson is you can't hold your head down with a hat on your head. You must pay attention to your posture," the Bloomfield mother says. Then, I wondered what other lessons we gain by being conscientious about our appearance. Self-esteem came to mind. It's hard for others to tear you down if you feel good about yourself. There are other special secrets among women who wear hats. Monica Gold learned it the first time she wore one to synagogue, as her mother does in New Jersey. The fine topper changed her persona and brought positive attention. As the Farmington woman walked down the aisle, she could hear women behind her, the oohs and aahs. "It's fun," she says. There are people who don't understand what we get out of looking good and smelling good. You can feel it when the person who doesn't understand calls you pretentious behind your back. But a like-minded hat wearer, Linda P. Taylor, helped me to shape my thinking on how our generation can continue modeling our beliefs so the next generation learns by example. "This is how a lady should be. I'm not trying to impress anybody, it's just the way I need to be," the Bloomfield woman said. With that kind of conviction, we could start something, perhaps our own etiquette classes in our churches or sororities so the girls today grow up knowing how fun it is to attend a tea the right way. "These girls aren't losing it," Taylor says of girls who haven't been introduced to the hat-and-glove culture. "It's just the fact that they haven't been taught." I sure hope she is right. Maybe, we should all start teaching by example. To
those who are keeping those traditions alive, hats off to you. |
