Jazzed!

Some people need justification for dressing up.  Or at least what they call "dressing up". They need a wedding, a function, a launching of their yacht......what about everyday, in and out, up and down, life?  In New York City, we start off with the newsblast of the morning, jump into our skins, and blast off.  My skin includes a hat. Brian, my hairdresser, would kill me if the color faded one second sooner than he calculated.  Besides, I feel nekkid without a hat.......unfinished, incomplete, and I admit it, insecure.

Missing something, like.

So, this weekend, on Governor's Island, there will be a whole lot of people swinging and stomping to the sounds of 1920's jazz, hopefully all wearing hats.  I shall report, and take stock, as to who does,and who doesn't, btw.  Whether the aficionados turn out in their fancy flapper gear, or weekend r-e-l-a-x clothing, a hat works, no matter what.  As a part of the festive mood, much the same as donning a foam finger at a football game, a hat at a gig means business. When you go to a wedding, special guest, or member of the fam, a hat demonstrates joy, inclusion, celebration.  

Take that image one step further, and think of every day as a possible hat-wearing venue.

Why do I go on endlessly with this prattle, you may ask yourself, gentle folk?  It's a mission, I admit, but a kind and purposeful one: hats don't bite.  They may bring a twinkle to the eye, music to the soul, joy to the heart, but they don't bite.

If you come out to Governor's Island this weekend, stay and play, listen to the Michael Arenella Orchestra, but by all means,wear a hat...get jazzed!

Napoleon Didn't Wear a Panama Hat!

But you can...especially now that it's summer in New York City. 

Panama hats are a cool, breatheable way to protect your head from the sun's rays.  They're made only in Ecuador and can be priced anywhere from 1oo up to thousands for an extra, extra, extra super fino Montecristi.  Yes, I did say thousands.

These hats are woven by hand from the fibre of the toquilla palm, stripped to different widths and formed, like a basket, into various patterns and shapes. There are artificial straws on the market that resemble a panama weave, but they never feel the same on the head. A true panama straw hat should be light, and comfortable, turning you into either Rico Suavay, or perhaps Greta Garbo, according to your mood. Or just yourself, ready to deal with the heat of the season.  It's the hat most people try on at Ellen Christine Millinery, and the hat that most people find when they're on vacation in exotic lands.  We like to do different ideas in fedoras and porkpies: a groovy jazzman, in black straw, or a MacDaddy in a checkered straw.......not every panama needs to be a natural white.  Charlie Chan wore the most popular style panama of the 1920's: the Optimo, or Colonial style, with the ridge down the center, and the flat brim.  Charlton Heston wore the plantation style, usually cocked off to one side.  The Duke of Windsor and Winston Churchill wore their favorite styles.  Gentlemen through the ages, good and bad,(okay, not all of them were gentlemen) all wore a Panama Hat.  Jump to modern day, and what do you see?  I don't know...I'm still looking.......hey guys, start wearing hats again, please!  You all look so good in a hat, really.  Andre 3000 wears one, or two, or more.  Kid Creole always wears one......Willy De Ville has his. Will Smith, Brad Pitt, Kid Rock, Bruce Willis... So what's stopping the regular dude from donning a hat and doing his thing every day? Tell me, so I can change it.

Man On The Street

Let me explain: not man, the mammal,in particular, but the common man, the everyday man, John and Jane Doe, chosen at random, will have opinions.  Point a camera and Sarah Bernhardt can emerge.....or not.  Maybe John Barrymore. The basis of this pointing the camera stuff is to help each other loosen up, communicate in another medium, as per Marshall McLuhan, and broaden each other's scope of reference.  So, by sallying forth with camera in tow, and at that, an unassuming camera, inocuous in it's own right, we are directing our message.  The medium, so to speak, is a hat.  The opinions are those of the general public, some fashionistas, some average Joes and Jills.  The hats are by Ellen Christine Millinery.  By using a "normal" silhouette, in this case, a fedora, and seeking verbal expression about a 3-D object, we're creating a non-confrontational environment where the tryer-on can see himself/herself in a different light.

But wait....what will happen when we introduce a non-normal silhouette, perhaps a feathered concoction that allows a momentary splicing of personality, an escape from the everyday reality, a glimpse into another side of the tryer-on. You'll have to tune in another day to see ...we'll upload at random, unedited, with glee.

It's pedantic, I know, but then art can be that way.  If you see the girls in the street, and they ask you to try a hat on, please let them.......there's no selling here, this isn't a ploy.  It's an experiment, just a way to hear what people have to say.  

hat tales

HAT OF THE WEEK!!!

What people think about hats in Union Square ??

My Red Sandals

I know, I know, this is a hat blog.  But, in all fairness, Yves St. Laurent takes precedence to everything right now.  It's taken a few days to settle in, but it's true.  He's gone, in body.  We're left with the name, the style, the passion for invention, for creativity that the name represents.

After all, hats were always a part of St. Laurent collections...just ask Elaine Stritch. He re-invented Chanel's boater, interpreted the Hippie floppy brim hat of the 1960's and 70's, added patterned silk to spark up a Russian chapka.  but it's not the hats of those years I remember...it's the sandals.  They happened the year I graduated from college and came to New York instead of going on my Grand Tour of Europe.  My girlfriend Ruthie had just lost her father, a warm and wonderful guy, and so our well-planned trip to Paris and beyond , slotted for the summer after graduation, became a moot point.  Her family was from Babylon, Long Island, and so I opted for sticking close to my home in Philadelphia, as an emotional support for her.  Europe was not going to happen that summer, so I came to New York and did what every redblooded college girl should do:  I went shopping.  In a major way.  Gucci became a mainstay reference point for kicking off each morning, deciding on which bag to go with which loafer.  My mother got presents, my grandmother got presents, I got presents.

Then I found the sandals.  Maybe in Saks, maybe in Bendel's...the geographic location of where isn't as relevant as the emotional impact they caused in my hippie heart.  Up to then, it had been my buffalo hide platforms, and  indian print dresses....at that moment, I became a young lady.  How things change in a blink of a credit card! Warm red leather, on a slight stacked leather platform, slingback......they became my uniform shoe.  Yves St. Laurent had just transformed my life, my closet, with a shoe!  College had been a whirlwind of commune, our store, el K-rajo, and oh, yes,  classes.  New York was now my tornado of choice.  Alana, a brilliant  graphic artist, and friend, took me under her wing and carted me around to design houses, looking at line, proportion, Studio 54.  Store windows were celebrating the moment (there was a motorcycle in the window of Henri Bendel!...cool!), fashion was becoming youthful, and St. Laurent had bridged that cultural  gap across the universe of couture and street.

Onto the second pair of sandals:  pale aqua patent leather, straps barely hanging onto my feet, worn as wardrobe in videos, worn to dance on the rooftop of Le Jardin , worn as a badge of graduation.  The little hippie had morphed into what would become her own mix of vintage clothing, couture and street.  And this was 1972.

Thank you, Monsieur.  God speed.

Indy Rules!

This weekend the female population of the country dragged their uninterested boyfriends to see Carrie and her cohorts cavort across the big screen, and beat out Indiana Jones in the ratings.  Matt Bauer on the Today show said they all entered with a ticket for SITC, then snuck down the hall to see Indy.  Wearing their fedoras no doubt.  If anyone noticed the empty seats in the theater, that's were they all were no doubt.  

I didn't feel the burning need to see Carrie et al, in spite of Mr. Big, at least not right away. Archeology beats fashion on my list of things to oggle , especially if the archeology has Harrison Ford on the dig.  Fashion is there, is always there, and although I'm interested in the pieces Patricia Field has put together for her leading ladies, they're not  as compelling for me as,say,  the costume designs for Elizabeth.  As in Queen Elizabeth, pick any movie.  

The June issue of Vogue gave us the preview of the movie, and somehow, for me, that was the taste I needed to carry on (pardon the pun) for a little while longer.  And then, we got the hat to smooth our way down the pink carpet.  Sarah Jessica Parker has unending good taste when choosing her red carpet outfits.  For the opening  of  Sex in the City in London Miss Parker had the vision to order a hat from Phillip Treacy, presumably one week before the event, and wowed the world press with the creation.  Weeks later, the image of that creation is still in the minds of the general public.  And in the hearts of all milliners everywhere! Go SJP!  Thank you, Mr. Treacy.

After that, how can the movie live up to it's own reputation?  Is there a gorgeous green cocktail hat in every scene?  Are there hats?  Are there people in hats?

I'm not biased, oh, no, dear folk.  I just love hats.  Indy gave me what I needed, what can I say?

Sunday, Sunday........

Does anyone remember the ads on the Philly radio stations:  Atco, Atco, Sunday, Sunday........?

Al Roker seems to have been there , because he chirps up with a "Sunday, Sunday..."every once in a while......you had to be there, but it's one of those things that automatically kicks in everytime you hear a vague reminder of the ad.............Atco was a Dragway, for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, and Sundays were THE day to go............

That was after church, mind you, when you got changed and took off for parts unknown with your buddies, Atco or not.......my crowd wasn't into drag racing...we were into rollerskating, with our little outfits. Not a hat to be seen in the rollerrink,by the way.  

Sunday was the day we got dressed in our civilian clothing.  It's how my hat addiction started out.  No school uniforms on Sundays, just miles of pastel dresses, hats, gloves, clutch bags, and of course, matching shoes.  It was another uniform, to be sure, but what else is social dressing, but a uniform? Hats were de rigeur in the fifties, and until 1964, a part of all of our lives when we planned our Sunday outfits.  The Ecumenical Council changed all of that, as did the beehive, Jackie Kennedy, and post WWII lifestyle.  But then, the hat reigned supreme, since it was all you could see once everyone was seated in church. 

What a picture!  Mrs. Broderick's little flowered bucket; my girlfriend Joanne's yellow straw helmet; my pink straw with the cabbage rose.  Whew!  We wore hats that only a mother could love.  Think Doris Day and that should engrave an image on your brain.  In the Sixties we started wearing triangular kerchiefs, to supplement our hat wardrobes.  Thrilling!  Denimheads, or madras, to match our reversible windbreakers, that matched our reversible wrap skirts.  But they were never as picturesque as the hats.  The trims, the shapes, the outfits concocted to match.  How delirious were the hatmakers of America in the 1950's to have every head covered.  Those were the days.

P.S. Atco Raceway is still going strong.