Can I wear a fedora?

This is my question of the week. Which is not to say I haven’t tried yet.
Goorin Bros. plaid hat from www.crimsoninthecity.com/store/Hats_HairAccessories.html

I love men’s hats—especially fedoras—and have casually experimented for years. Had a pretty good look going on for while, when my hair was long: I’d wear two braids and my vintage plaid fedora with jeans and a t-shirt. Instant cool.

I think I got into men’s hats when I saw the movie The Lover (film still above), based on Marguerite Duras’ memoirs of growing up in China. The actress Jane March (and possibly Duras in real life) wore a fedora (and two braids) with her drop-waist sack dress and worn-down shoes. T-straps, I think. She was just so offhand-cool, so effortless. The hat gave her a free pass when it came to the threadbare dress. The hat, such a simple thing, made being young and poor and foreign into something terribly romantic.

Later it was Alicia Keys, circa Songs in A Minor who inspired me in her videos, wearing a fedora at a rakish angle over a bandana over a nest of braids gathered at the nape of her neck. The hat conveyed urban savvy, a spontaneous spirit and a connection to some deep groove.
Photo from AshevilleStreetstyle.com

I know other girls in fedoras have come and gone. Miley Cyrus has probably sported one (if so, please don’t tell me). I need for my fedora girls to be a little less Disney, a little more subversive. Hats aren’t mere accessories, after all. They’re pieces of armor. They protect—from the sun, the rain, the cold; they also protect from unwanted attention or detection. A fedora girl is both incongnito and commanding notice, only she’s in control of what sort of attention she gets. The hat serves as cloaking device and alter ego: Pretty big trick for one small item of clothing.
Fedora collage from VoicesInColor.com

So, back to my initial question: Can I wear a fedora? I no longer have the two long braids and I’m not a teenager in a foreign country. I’m also not a soul singer in carefully choreographed video (though that’s pretty much what my fantasy world looks like). I do know that summer is just around the corner and smart girls wear hats, so why not a fedora? Time to start shopping for the perfect vintage hat to pair with sundresses, sandals and cutoffs.

Semi-precious: unexpected adornment

A significant portion of my youth was mispent in found accessories. Some of it was pretty bad: Plastic spider rings, rubber rats (the cat toy type) safety pinned to my jacket, dog chains as necklaces.



But there were some good efforts, as well. The 1980s brought wristsful of black rubber bracelets (“Madonna bracelets”) and cheery friendship pins — the DIY project that involved threading seed beads onto safety pins and then wearing them like metalic tassles from one’s shoelaces.



My personal tastes were a little more obscure: I’d comb thrift stores for intersting bits of castoff jewelry. Earrings without matches, random brooches, anything shiny that could be strung on a chord for a necklace. Recently, while reading the excellent and inspiring blog The Uniform Project, I came across a photo of blogger Sheena wearing an antique beaded purse as a necklace (below). Brilliant. And far smarter than I ever was, with my rhinestone bits and pieces. But still, the idea shares a genesis: Take something lovely if impractical/unusable and repurpose it as decoration.



With that in mind, I plan to go through my jewelry box and look at all the odds and ends with a new eye. Necklaces to be worn as bracelets or hat bands, skeleton keys as amulets, broken lockets strung like charms on a chain.

And who knows, maybe friendship pins will make a comeback this year, too!

Scarves: from Vera ladybugs to McQueen skulls

Once, when I was photographing streetstyle at a thrift shop, a woman told me the blue scarf she was wearing was a Vera Neumann from the 1950s. The savvy shopper (Maria Blakeman) regularly trawled second hand stores for the vintage collectible scarves. Made me think I should pay attention to those wads of silk (and, more often, polyester) in the wire bins reserved for tights, socks, hats and neckware.


Maria in Vera, from AshevilleStreetstyle.com

Fuzzylizzie Vintage Clothing has a bio for designer Vera Neumann (better known as simply “Vera”), along with some great photos of the print scarves. Says Fuzzylizzie, “The earlier pieces from the mid 1960s will often have 100% Cotton, or 100% Silk on the label. Also, the earlier pieces have the ladybug logo, and Vera printed on it, usually in the lower left corner.” Good to know.


Vera at Fuzzielizzie

So far, I’ve yet to find a Vera in a thrift shop (not that I’ve been looking that hard). I do like to peruse the assortment of scarves, though, since patterns come and go and some of the decidedly vintage prints are just so unique. Plus, scarves are a great way to add interest to a basic outfit.


Keith Richards, master of the scarf.

“In the 40s and 50s, scarves were an important fashion accessory worn around the neck, over the head and even on a wrist,” says The Vintage Scarf Blog. “With a twist and a knot, you can quickly and effortlessly turn a bad hair day into an eye-catching hairdo or transform an ordinary T-shirt and jeans outfit into a personal fashion statement.”


Victoria Beckham with scarf on bag.

Personally, I haven’t found mastering the art of the scarf to be quick or effortless — the way French women and rock stars wear scarves with casual cool: Nope, I can’t pull it off. But I have found that practice helps and, if all else fails, a great scarf can be tied around the shoulder strap of a handbag for a Boho look.



That, and the Alexander McQueen skull scarf (above) trend of several years back provided plenty of fodder for my own scarf-wearing.