For most people (my mom and the Lifetime channel) royal wedding frenzy is about living a vicarious Cinderella dream or whatever; for me, it is the dream that somewhere, someday, maybe I, too, can strap a lily pad on my head. Few occasions exist on American soil in which hats, much less fascinators, are legitimate daywear for non-church-goers: 1) if you are competing in RuPaul’s Drag Race; 2) if you are Miss Tina Knowles Lawson at the Kentucky Derby; 3) if you are in Williamsburg, and then only amongst Miranda July fans. I want to transform my body into flower stem; my face, a rooster; my spirit, the wind beneath wings. I want a party on my head, you guys.
Barring that, we can peruse the pool noodles, potpourri, hairballs, frisbees, fascinators, casks, netting, sinamay, boaters and sailors, yannys, laurels, and fashion crimes* which graced and disgraced the noble domes of England today where anything is possible.
*For any meaningful analysis of fashion statements, I defer to Jezebel’s royal family authority Kelly Faircloth, who’s reporting live from the scene.
Assortment of hats.
Frouf on hat.
A great many hats
Oh my god, that last hat.
What a lovely peacock accent for your hat!
I yearn for you, hat.
Closer view of m’lady’s rockin’ hat
She’s wearing Queen Mary’s tiara, which is a big deal.
A fascinator for The Queen.
IT’S LIKE A BUTTERFLY LANDED ON HER HEAD.
Back squarely in the realm of hats.
Holy shit this is a look.
If the ineffable movement of London fog were captured in one magnificent hat.
Hatspo hatspo hatspo.
What glories can be produced by exorbitant wealth, read: this hat
Hat, accompanied by celebrities
This is also a form of hat.
Not even the greatest hat will redeem you.
I am a taco!
A look of a woman resigned to a life trapped in this hat; conceptual