My girlfriend Kayren from LA got married last weekend in the French Quarter. (She’s originally from Pontchatoula.) She had a 1920’s theme and it was a DREAM! Her guests fully embraced the spirit of the 1920’s and for 4 days, dressed in full 1920’s wear.
The ceremony was held at the historical Beauregard Keyes House on Chartres Street. There were lanterns on the stairs and walking around the Quarter, seeing all the houses from the 17-1800’s, hearing the clip-clop of the horses and carriages, walking into the amazing house and courtyard where they were serving mint juleps–it was like stepping back in time.
As you entered the house, there was a large wooden table covered in envelopes that said “Western Union Telegram” on them. Inside was a list of everything that would happen during the ceremony. The ballroom was lit with candles and a jazz band that sounded like Louis Armstrong played. Kayren looked stunning in a 1920’s silk dress with buttons down the back. She was radiant and ecstatic and her groom kept crying. Their minister was hilarious and romantic and profound–he had all of us laughing and crying.
Afterwards, the entire party walked over to the Palm Court Jazz Cafe for dinner and dancing. The groom’s family owns a Vineyard and every table had divine bottles of wine with different photos of Kayren and her groom. I was wearing my 1920’s hat that Kim bought for me in Scotland. Like a fool, I hadn’t planned my outfit, thinking, “Of course I have a 1920’s outfit–it’s my era.” But after perusing my closet, I discovered all my vintage dresses were on the island, so I ended up looking like a bag lady. Sad–as dressing up, especially in period pieces, is one of my favorite things to do!
But thank goodness I had my hat–the hat with its own quirky history.
Kim and I were backpacking and hitchhiking around Scotland and Ireland when I found it. We were walking down a curving stone path and came upon the dreamiest (and priciest) hat shop. Of course I had to fall in love with a huge hat that didn’t fold up. The one Kim chose folded up into a tiny ball in her suitcase, but not me. No way. I had to have the big Holly Golightly hat. I had also bought a velvet cape in Camden Market in London, so being the practical Glamola girl I am, I was backpacking with a luxe velvet cape and a massive blue hat, neither of which I could fit in my backpack, nor did I want them to get dirty. So we were riding on freezing buses, (cheapest mode of travel), and I was shivering, refusing to cover myself with my cape so it wouldn’t get dirty.
The voice of reason advised me to find something in which to carry my hat (besides my head) and so began a quest to find a hatbox.
In case you haven’t found yourself combing Ireland for a hatbox recently, let me tell you–they don’t exactly populate the street corners. In fact, they are quite difficult to find!
After many hours of fervent searching, I finally found a hat box in Dublin. It wasn’t exactly the right size-in fact it was quite a bit larger, so then I was hitchhiking with a hat box bigger than me, and 5 yards of velvet in cloak form, plus my suitcases, backpack, etc.
Practical?
Extremely.
In trying not to squish my hat, I ended up wearing it most of the time. I would get comments like, “Look at you–you have a lampshade on your head!” or “Would you be running the Ghost tours this evening?” (We actually considered running our own ghost tour to make extra $$). They told Kim her hat looked like a tea cozy. (But in exchange for their rude remarks, we made them give us a ride to Inverness in Scotland.)
And the thing about my hat was I couldn’t see when I was wearing it.
So at the wedding in New Orleans, I kept running into dear old friends I hadn’t seen in years and all I could see was their lower body because my hat was so low over my eyes. My neck hurt the next day from tilting my head back all evening, trying to glimpse faces. I finally gave it to Kim’s boyfriend, and he put it on a statue in the corner of the cafe. It actually looked stunning on the statue. I had pinned a peacock feather to the front of the hat to add a dash of flair, and I took photos of the statue at the end of the evening. As I stumbled to leave (ok, I had a julep, a mojito, and that delicious wine…) George motioned to me that I had forgotten my hat. In all my fun taking photos of the hat on the statue, I had forgotten it!
And now it sits in my closet happy with its new addition–the peacock feather. My oh my.
I wonder what other adventures this hat has in its future?
My Advanced Pretending Skills
November 22, 2024
