The search for the perfect outrageous hat begins. Shall I wear a toque (warm, useful and very appropriate in winter here), a beret, a boater, a bowler, a cloche, a Cossack, a deerstalker, a fez, a helmet, a Juliette, a pill box, a snood, a Stetson, a Tilley, a wimple or a dashing Panama topper? Will the perfect hat be fashioned out of felt, cotton, wool, fake fur, buckram or straw? Will it have sequins, ribbons, flowers or feathers? Perhaps I should consider a nice understated crown or a tiara? Maybe the chosen hat should have a veil or warning lights (Caution, crone, approach with care).On the cover of a British reissue of one of my favourite books, Katharine Butler Hathaway's luminous memoir entitled The Little Locksmith, there is a photo of Katharine wearing a remarkable and very dramatic hat, and I long for one like it, complete with wide brim, deep crown and plumes. Alas, mine is not a head on which the usual sort of millinery rests easily, and I am probably in for a bit of a treasure hunt in the search for a perfect hat. While I have no idea what my hat will look like or what style it will be, I do know that there has to be strong vibrant colour involved, red, purple, gold, royal blue or emerald green.
If you haven't already guessed, this is something of a silly day, and I have a crying need for colour this morning. It happens every year in January around this time . . .
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