Hat Couture

By Deborah Bainbridge

“Off with your hat!” Mother raged, fists clenched skyward.

Alice set her book down and placed her hand on the banister. Mother’s cheeks flushed redder and redder until Alice feared her head might whistle like a tea kettle and pop off entirely.

“Alice Rose, you’re eighteen, and it’s high time you start acting like it. How will you ever attract a suitor in that ridiculous hat?”

“But Mother, this is what all the young ladies are wearing these days. It’s perfectly acceptable.” Alice gracefully descended the stairs. “Besides, if my suitor is only interested in marrying my hat, he’s not very sensible at all.”

“You must behave like the other young girls who conform to Oxford’s high society standards! They don’t add pointy ears and whiskers to their hats.”

Alice sighed. “How very sad for them.”

Mother placed her hands on her hips. “You’re not still going on about that shire cat nonsense, are you?”

“Cheshire, Mother, and of course not. Wonderland couldn’t possibly be the real place I believed it was. Merely a dream beside the River Thames, as you’ve insisted.” Alice tugged at her hoop skirt. “I just thought, if I must wear these insufferable clothes, I might add a touch of personalization.”

“More nonsense.” Mother ran a finger across the piano, then lifted her fingertip for inspection. “No one’s interested in your strange sense of style. People already wonder about your sanity.”

Alice’s face fell. They all think I’m mad.

Mother circled, scrutinizing every inch of her. “Fair skin. Blonde hair. Striking blue eyes.” She lifted Alice’s chin. “My brother was a daydreamer, too, you know, head always in the clouds. Look where that’s gotten him. Everyone loves his hats, but nobody invites him anywhere.”

“Including us?” She’d always assumed her uncle declined social invitations.

“Well, I can’t very well be seen in public with him, now, can I?”

Or me. Alice looked down at her black shoes and mumbled, “His own family. How perfectly awful of us.”

Mother rang for the carriage, grabbing her far more suitable hat. “Perhaps a visit to my delirious brother will teach you a lesson. Go and pack.” Mother’s eyes bored into Alice’s. “And burn that wretched hat!”

***

Alice clasped the newspaper from the doorstep of Wynn’s Designs, intrigued by the headline. I wonder. Stepping inside, she marveled at the colorful hats lining the shelves. Precariously stacked hat boxes of all shapes and sizes filled the shop, waiting to topple at any moment. Curious.

“Well, are you going to help me or dawdle in the doorway?” A giggly, wavering voice shouted from the other side of the room.

Alice let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Oh, I never dawdle. Mother says it’s rude.” She hurried down a crooked aisle, dodging and stepping over boxes along the way until she discovered a short-statured man standing at his workbench, a powder-blue hat before him.

“I must tie this bow. The clock is ticking!”

Alice placed her finger in the center of two crossed pink ribbons, then watched the hatter tie a perfect, wide-looped bow. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Uncle Wynn.”

The hatter froze, then cupped her cheeks with his hands. “Alice? Could it really be you?”

She nodded.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you, dear girl.”

“I’m happy to see you, Uncle.” Alice smiled, then quickly looked away. “Mother sent me.”

He crossed his arms. “And what is your crime, exactly?”

“Being me… I think.” Alice’s eyebrows crinkled. “I must learn the dangers of not conforming to society. But, any second now”—her eyes met his—“I fear I will disappear entirely.”

“Like the Cheshire-Cat?”

Alice gasped. “You believed me?”

“Of course, I did. You’re family.” He took her hand in both of his. “Sadly, most people lack the creativity necessary to enter Wonderland.”

“You’re the only one who believed me.” She shook her head. “They all think I’m—”

“Mad?” He patted her hand and raised his right eyebrow. “We’re more alike than you think, my dear. Society deems anyone mad who dares to be unique.” He pressed his pocket watch against his ear, his blue eyes twinkling. “A day off, but always six o’clock.”

Alice shadowed her uncle into the back room where she placed today’s newspaper on a table overloaded with books and set for tea. Curiouser. Two walls were filled with uniquely designed hats resembling dogs, foxes, and peacocks, while another was decorated with hats resembling the Cheshire-Cat, March Hare, and Queen of Hearts.

“Brilliant!” Alice unloosed the pointy-eared hat from her waist tie and put it on.

“How delightful.” Uncle Wynn clapped and tittered, then pointed to cakes in wide-mouthed jars. “To grow.”

Alice giggled.

Gesturing toward a chair, Wynn poured tea into two rose-shaped teacups. “It took me a long time to realize this, dear Alice, but God creates each of us with different gifts and talents. On purpose.” He sat. “Sadly, society isn’t ready for ours just yet.”

Alice sipped her tea, gazing at the newspaper’s lead story, Haute Couture Paris Redefining Women’s Fashion. “Maybe they are.” Alice read the article aloud. “Written by Elizabeth Archibald.”

“Fashionable customer. Exceptional taste in hats!”

Certainly she’ll understand. Alice wiggled in her seat. “Uncle, I’ve got an idea. I know it’s mad, but could I stay here and work with you?”

Wynn’s mouth gaped open. “You want to stay here? With me? But, I’m—”

“Perfectly unique. Just like me. Oh, please, Uncle?”

“I never had children.” Tears welled in his eyes. “Nothing could make me happier.”

***

The next morning’s headline read, New Line of Hats Brings Haute Couture to Oxford, with the following quote by Alice Rose: “Wynn’s Designs is pleased to offer a new line of women’s hats we’ve branded ‘Hat Couture.’ Each hat will be personally designed to incorporate a woman’s unique personality. We feel that, just as no two women are alike, no two hats should be either. After all, why blend in when you can stand out?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Deborah Bainbridge is a semi-retired Pharmacist who dreams of teleporting internationally and into fantastical realms. Her short fiction has appeared in Havok, Iron Faerie, Spark, and her poetry with Twenty Hills Publishing. She’s a Christian, Realm Awards Finalist, and the wife of a Great Eagle (LOTR) who desires to take people on adventures through story. She enjoys running and eating cookies, preferably not at the same time, and would leave her Christmas lights up all year if the neighbors wouldn’t stare.

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