In the scramble to secure information — any information — about The Dress, several hundred vital features of the big day have been neglected: the hats, which are almost certain to outshine some of the outfits.
While the royals’ outfits have often left style-watchers in puzzlement and sorrow, they almost universally know how to give great hat. And, shock horror (but only if you’re of a nervous, fashiony disposition) many of the younger crowd — The Times can exclusively reveal — will be sporting fascinators.
In the fashion world, this is tantamount to an open act of rebellion. Ever since Vogue declared the fascinator to be as alluring and sophisticated as elasticated slacks, fashionistas have spurned, scorned and reviled them.
Unspoken, too, in certain circles, is the suspicion that fascinators may, like serviettes and fish knives, just be a little too LMC: lower middle class. Yes, the great British preoccupation with class has invaded hat wearing too.
But in a hopeful sign for meritocratic Britain, Kate Middleton and her friends appear not to be bothered. April 29 is their golden ticket day, and they give great fascinator.
Obviously no one is calling what they will wear fascinators. “What an appalling word,” says Philip Treacy, whose clients include the Duchess of Cornwall; Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie, both seasoned daring hat (and fascinator) wearers; Deborah, the supremely stylish Dowager Duchess of Devonshire, and most of Europe’s crowned, feathered and rosettegarlanded heads.
As the former Lady Jersey said to Treacy — and she was a friend of Wallis Simpson and knows a thing or two about style — “what’s fascinating about a fascinator?”
The word comes from Australia. I’ve nothing against Australians but a fascinator sounds like a sex toy, and who wants to wear that on your head? Not that all of Treacy’s masterpieces feature four-foot brims. In this month’s American Vogue, Christie Turlington, dressed for an imaginary wedding, wears a heart-stoppingly gorgeous, giant, white silk Treacy rose atop her hair, with no visible support. Surely that qualifies it as a fascinator?
“It’s a question of semantics,” says Treacy. “It’s not some dodgy spike on a cheap hairband, really it’s about what suits the face. You need to see neck for a hat, so hair should be worn up. But lots of these young women going to the wedding don’t want to wear their hair up. That means there will be lots of teeny hats, some with veils and that’s great but,” he adds wistfully, “for some of these girls, it’s all about the hair.”
Bundle Maclaren, 29, who set up her business only 18 months ago, is furnishing ten guests with hats, most of them from Kate Middleton’s set. She agrees that terminology is a problem, and prefers to call fascinators “head pieces”. Others speak lyrically of corsages (huge blooms perched atop heads without any visible sign of a brim. Fascinators, in other words).
“The high street has given fascinators a very bad name,” says Maclaren firmly. “They’ve become synonymous with three limp feathers. They tended to look a bit cheap and as if the wearer hadn’t made enough effort.”
Not that Maclaren is in the business of making hats serious or prohibitively expensive. “Good hats don’t have to cost a fortune. That’s why I started my company. All the hats I loved were beyond my budget, and the ones I could afford were unimaginative.” Maclaren’s hats start from about £35, a draw for some of the younger guests, who, Maclaren says, will be buying their dresses from Reiss and Whistles, now that Kate has given both chains her blessing. Maclaren’s speciality is the small, pert statement, albeit of a superior, nonlimp genus. “There’ll be lots of British references on the day. I’m working with pheasant plumes, and even incorporating favourite heirloom jewellery into the designs. The aim with all of them is to make a statement yet keep them small and manageable. I call them kissing hats.”
Although Harrods, House of Fraser and Peter Jones all report that sales of fascinators are soaring — along with cocktail hats and trilbys — there is more diversity at the bespoke end. “My clients are opting for all kinds of designs,” reports Treacy, who is supplying so many hats for the wedding he’s having to keep meticulous records of who will be wearing what to ensure there are no diplomatic incidents.
Since Treacy’s clients tend not to be raiding the high street (they’re wearing couture from Valentino, Gaultier, or Lanvin, with a smattering of Victoria Beckham), their emphasis will be on elegance and wit. And brims, the bigger, the better. “A brim changes the contours of the face. It can give you cheekbones. It’s cheap plastic surgery, really.”
As for the notion that big brims are an infringement of the rights of the person sitting behind you, Treacy is forthright that nothing should come between a woman and her right to wear a stunning piece of sculpture. “Ignore protocol,” he counsels. “There’ll be TV screens in the Abbey, won’t there?”
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