Hats and The Women Who Wear Them

The women (and girls) in our family traditionally don’t like to wear hats. Thankfully, other than a short stint in the mid-60s where floppy-brimmed webbed hats of all colors were avant garde, American fashion, at least in my adulthood, has steered away from these ungainly toppers.

The wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton exposed a British fetish for outlandish concoctions that perch above the eyes, no doubt glued there because they defy the laws of gravity. One fashion writer described this as “a woman declaring her space.” I think I agree, given the scant seconds I’ve devoted to analyzing this trend. (My mother always described sneezes the same way: He (or she) is establishing his/her territory.) Yes, I can see it. No leaning in to exchange an intimate word; no perusal of other clothing because one’s eyes can’t leave the hat. A way to be alone in a crowd.

Recently our daughter Liz, mother to Ella, emailed us a picture she took of Ella and her hats. No doubt this is a passing fancy, given our family’s history with hats, but as I smiled at her, in absencia on my computer screen, I remembered a photograph of my grandmother, Momo, who never wore a hat in my memory, even in the brightest Phoenix sun.

I found it this week, and there is a certain something in the looks of Momo and Ella that send the same message. To me, it says “I’m looking at the camera because you asked me to, but I’d rather get back to what I was doing.” Momo has a book in her lap in my photo, and Ella is playing with a McDonald’s Happy Meal doo-dad. Neither are smiling, but not frowning either – just minding their own business, and wishing photographers would do the same.

I don’t know very much about the picture of Momo. My mom told me Momo was around sixteen when the picture was taken, which would date it to 1901. The hat reminds me of a strange marriage between Teddy Roosevelt and Tom Mix. And it’s not, to my eye, very flattering.

Ella’s hats are much less defined, the cotton “beanies with brims” that parents, without mercy, try to get their kids to wear. In the 70s and 80s when our four were young, and all the moms passed kids’ clothes around, the hats were always the most pristine. No stains, no ragged edges – because they were not worn. Ella is wearing three at once, but I’m sure that’s because she’s only seventeen months old. She’s wised up by now, since she’s a couple of months older.

As I look at Ella and Momo, I think, “Here are two women who share DNA, albeit 125 years apart. And I have the rare privilege of loving them both.”

I’ve said it before, but sometimes life is sweet.

Do you have a favorite photo wearing a hat? I'd like to see it.