You Can Leave Your Hat On

The Vintage Hat Series: Victorian miniature velvet top hat, sequin trimmed

The top hat, also known as a beaver hat, high hat, silk hat, cylinder hat, chimney pot hat or stove pipe hat, and sometimes simply as a ‘topper’, is predominantly a man’s hat. It first appeared atop men’s heads around the end of the eighteenth century and continued to be worn until the middle of the twentieth. Today it is worn chiefly by magicians, bridegrooms, and doormen.

But way back in the nineteenth century, in Victorian times, a London milliner pooh-poohed this blatant sexism and created this saucy little miniature topper. Decorated with sequin trim, it’s patently an evening hat and is best worn on a rakish tilt. It must have been rather racy back then, perhaps something only an actress or demimondaine might have worn.

A Victorian illustration of hat-tippingWhile tipped hats look becoming on a woman, back then ladies generally didn’t tip their hats to passers-by. This gesture of respect belonged almost exclusively to the male domain, and was a non-verbal greeting between friends or acquaintances, made during encounters on the sidewalk, or at social functions, or as a respectful acknowledgement when meeting a lady. One possible explanation of why women did not tip their hats could be that their hats, being far more elaborate, were often anchored firmly to their hairdos with hatpins.

The style of hat-tip could also indicate differences in social class: the subordinate was obliged to make a more elaborate gesture, such as entirely removing his hat while the superior merely touched his – assuming an appropriate lordly and lofty manner.

The origins of hat tipping are thought to be the same as the military salute and hark back to medieval times when knights wore visors. They would raise them to show friendliness. (Unfriendly ones raised their lances.)

Today’s version of the hat tip is the nod, and is restricted only to those who have a head on top. 

Read more about men’s hat etiquette here. 

Fashion Notes

I purchased this Victorian hat online from the UK. I haven’t been able to find any references to indicate how common this kind of hat was in that era. However, women then certainly wore full-size top hats either when horseback riding, in vaudeville, or as a fashion statement. 

Marlene Dietrich wears a top hat in the film Morocco, 1930

Underpinnings

Petticoats

Historically, petticoats were a woman’s undercoat worn to be displayed beneath an open gown; or a tight, usually padded undercoat worn by men over a shirt and under a doublet (jacket). The origin of the word is the late Middle English period: ‘petty coat’, literally meaning small coat. Later, worn under outer garments, the function of the petticoat was to give warmth, or to create a fashionable shape by adding volume beneath a skirt or dress – rather than from notions of modesty.

The petticoat has gone in and out of mainstream fashion since the sixteenth century to Christian Dior’s New Look in the mid 1940s and 50s, and to the present day with subcultures such as gothic, steampunk and Lolita.

Arguably today the most popular notion of a petticoat must be the full, ruffled shape associated with Victorian times, or the tulle crinolines of 1950s prom queens. More often than not, these were white. In previous centuries though, petticoats were worn to be seen, either deliberately revealed by openings or draping of the overskirts, or by accident with the force of a high wind lifting a hooped or crinoline skirt. Petticoats were therefore highly decorative, made from beautiful fabrics in glorious colours and trimmed with ribbons and lace. They were gorgeous enough to be worn as skirts in themselves.

Petticoat, probably French, 1870s; click image for more information and alternate viewsCotton and linen petticoat, American, 1883; click image for more information and alternate viewsSilk embroidered French petticoat, 1895-98; click image for more informationSissi, Empress Elisabeth of Bavaria, wears a gown fully supported by petticoats in 1859Fashion that bustles, from The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine, November 1869Susan Lawrence (from Ipswich) wearing a dark coloured dress, with many folds of fabric pulled up over a large bustle at the rear, c 1887

Bustles

By contrast, the bustle was a rather unattractive foundation garment with little or no grace, in fashion predominantly in the mid-to-late nineteenth century. Worn at the back, just under the waist, the primary function of the bustle was to preserve the shape of full, draped skirts and keep them from dragging. The heavy skirts of the day tended to flatten from sheer weight during everyday wear, even merely sitting or moving about.

Different styles of bustles came and went over the decades, initially evolving from a crinoline in the mid 1860s when the shape was worn quite low and often fanning out to form a train. It was then lifted to form a pronounced hump shape immediately below the waist, with the skirts falling sharply to the floor, very much changing the silhouette. It grew to monstrous proportions in the mid 1880s but was out of fashion by the end of the decade.

British bustle made from cotton and metal, c 1871; click image for more information Linen and metal bustle, American, c 1885; click image for more information

The attractive ‘S-shape’ figure of the day that accentuated a tiny waist meant that a curve at the back of the skirt balanced the curve of the bust (exaggerated by corsets in their turn), and gentler versions of the bustle were worn into the early twentieth century.

Today bustles are rarely seen except in the realm of sensationalist haute couture, bridal fashion and the aforementioned subcultures – petticoats, with their more uniform silhouette are easier on the eye and more forgiving to wear.

Fashion Notes

My vintage petticoat was borrowed from the Melbourne Theatre Company’s costume department to give fullness to my own 1920s skirt, which made part of my Queen of Hearts costume for the theatre’s Christmas party last year. The full skirt is gathered at the waist, with rope sewn into the hem to create shape and give weight. There is also what I have dubbed a ‘mini bustle’ at the back.

When I first donned it, the petticoat felt quite heavy, but I became accustomed to it surprisingly quickly and managed to spend quite a bit of time on the dance floor without feeling the weight at all – it created a pleasing swing in fact. The camisole, possibly 80s or 90s, is my own, and was bought in a charity store years ago. 

Gallery

(Left) wire and cotton American bustle, c1880; (right) cotton and metal bustle, probably American, early 20th centurySilk petticoat, British mid-eighteenth century; click image for more information and alternate views(Left) American silk petticoat from the early 1900s; (right) cotton and silk petticoat, American, 1900-1948

* All images in the above gallery are from The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

New Old Bag

Sometimes an old bag becomes new again. In the case of this little patent 70s number, it was not my old bag to start with, so really, it is a new old bag. Quite petite, it is remarkable how much it actually fits inside too. There is one main compartment that has a zipped pocket, with another slim pocket behind it, and then there are two compartments on either side of the kiss lock, where I can keep easy-access items, such as my public transport pass, keys, phone, iPod.

It’s like a Harry Potter bag – small on the outside, but so gargantuan on the inside I can practically fit the kitchen sink inside. Sometimes, in fact, it feels as heavy as though I am lugging the kitchen sink around. It’s like a mini-me version of my old favourite, and for a faux leather bag it’s held up impressively with daily use. Hopefully I will be carrying it until it’s an old new old bag. Or, more accurately, I’ll be an old bag carrying a really old bag. 

Be Still My Jingling Hearts

I have long admired tribal jewellery, and irregularly window-shop on eBay for pieces. Of course there is plenty of costume jewellery, cheaply made and generic, but this necklace rather captured my heart because it was made from vintage textiles. An Afghan immigrant or refugee had made it  – whether this is actually true, or a selling tool I can’t confirm, except that the seller at Sirik did tell me after I had already made the purchase.

Composed of textile rimmed mirrored hearts, the necklace is strung with hundreds of seed beads and tiny bells. It was the colour palette that initially caught my eye: a very bright lemon yellow, orange and cerulean beads, and brass bells. The seller also informed me that the necklace would need to have a clasp attached: I chose to use an acid yellow grosgrain ribbon that is tied in a big bow on the back of the neck.

The bells of course tinkle constantly, which can be a little distracting. My work colleagues, when I wore this outfit on Friday, were remarkably forgiving. I was astounded how much attention the necklace drew however, strangers literally stopped me in the street, and sales assistants were equally effusive. It’s what I call a real heart-stopper of a necklace! 

When the Livin’ is Easy

Celebrating the Roaring Twenties in a Special Series

Ohhh, say it isn’t so, summer isn’t over already? Although it is a relief that my apartment has finally cooled down after the heatwave, I am still a little sad to farewell summertime. Summer will forever be associated with holidays, that wonderful feeling of freedom that one has upon waking in the mornings. But long hot days must give way, so let it be to mellow, golden autumn and the crisp air, and the beauty of falling leaves.

I’ll bid the season adieu with this flapper inspired summer outfit and a parasol. Cheerio summer, until a long year passes …

Summertime and the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high …

Vogue 1919, illustrated by Helen DrydenVogue 1917, illustrated by Helen Dryden