Chapeaux

I have just proved to myself that I can put together a perfectly good hat post without incurring the wrath of he-who-owns Putting-On-The-Hats. Besides, I've already sneaked photos of that guy's precious stock despite his warning signs.

Basically, these were seen in various shops the day I did Whiskey Row with the DIL. Above, a perfect fit for the 4th and Rodeo days, wouldn't you say? As for the lacy pink confection below, let's hope that the Gdotter is long past her pastel days when her head is big enough to wear it. On the other hand, that orange lurking there below is a nice possibility for the Dotter, who's into warm, sunny colors.

My sister-in-law down in OZ might like one of these red chapeaux -- she wears the red and purple on special occasions.

As for the DIL, she wasn't very enthusiastic when I asked her to try on the flame model. But she did comply. BTW, that's my favorite of the lot, but then I'm into flames Big Time.

Hats: a Western perspective

When my LH and I first moved to Arizona in the early 80s, we quickly learned about hats. In the West, a man's hat, whether it be a pricey Stetson or a proletarian baseball cap, is Very Important. Too important, in fact, to remove from the head in most situations. For example, over coffee in a restaurant...


..at an indoors public event (hint: count the number of hats in the picture above)...

...or at a political picnic.

The husband, a seasoned debater, offered all manner of reasons for head gear; top of the list was the sun beating down on one's exposed noggin. (Yes, he insisted that I wear a hat of some sort when we went exploring. He, BTW, for many years wore a rakish Robin Hood-ish leather he found at the Yellow Front.) But that doesn't explain the wearing of the hat in the Red Lobster or mom's living room. She, of course, was brought up in the world in which gentlemen and young boys all doffed their boaters or derbies to ladies. And never, never wore a hat indoors. Big culture conflict.

Such niceties have long been forgotten or, perhaps, never existed in the West, where black hats...

...gritty hats

...and warm weather straw are all at home indoors.

In Prescott, we have one store on Whiskey Row that is stocked with an amazing variety of hats (and forbids picture taking -- these shots were all taken surreptitiously). If you like, you can even buy a Cat-in-the-Hat hat. Or a stylish cheesecutter. That's my Aussie bro below, with his new lid, purchased when he was last in town.

He saw no reason to buy a outdoorsman's hat from Oz over at the Outfitter's, but locals apparently like them.

Come to think of it, I do recall one occasion when hats were removed indoors. Twas a house concert out Williamson Valley way. I guess these expensive extensions of guys' egos were considered safe for a brief couple of hours. Go figure. I'm sure they'd never settle for the electronic cap described here.

Hats for m'lady

The sign at JoAnn's was a reminder of days long gone. When I was young, starting out on my career as a magazine editor, hats were a chore. Did you have an important business lunch? It meant gloves, nylons, heels, girdle and, of course, hat. The formality of those days is long gone, happily. But I still have an aversion to wearing headgear, even when it's quite necessary on a very hot, sunny Arizona day.

But that sign wasn't talking about making the modern little pill boxes which were the style back in my early working life. Oh, no. Rather, hats as art objects and collectibles. Periodically, I find such fluffy confections in local antiqueries.

Not just Victoriana, sometimes a straw quite perfect for Joan Crawford or Ava Gardner.

You'll periodically see fancy hats at Prescott events -- quite in keeping with an Old West theme, for example.

Members of our active Victorian Society appear in costume at ice cream socials, senior living communities...

...and sometimes just stroll our streets.

It keeps life here interesting. If I don't have to wear gloves, nylons, heels, girdle and hat.

Somthing(s) Old, Something New

Walking downtown this morning, bro & I espied this, what, contraption? Big. Heavy. All iron. Rusted. Mysterious. Just the sort of thing moderns use to adorn the garden, though a fork lift might be required...

Here you can compare the size with the recycle containers or the "little" bro's arm for scale. Likely a relic of mining days.

Now this relic dates from more comfy circumstances -- an early soda fountain. One of many antiques over at the Goodwin Street Pharmacy. Yes, we stopped for an egg cream and a milk shake.

Now for the new: I thought it was just the ladies who went for new hats, but that's the bro looking to buy a new cheese cutter, which, it turns out, is a rarity Down Under. Fine selection, I'd say.