ODT Fashion contributor Jane Pike let celebrity milliner Lindsay Kennet slip through her fingers at iD Dunedin Fashion Week. But she wasn't going to let that happen again.
It took me a little while to decide whether or not I would take her. I mean, from where I sit at my desk, I stare at her all day. We are close friends. More than friends really. I'd go as far to say that we are family.
We haven't known each other all that long in the grand scheme of things, but as with all good relationships, the connection was, well... it was instantaneous. From the moment she came into my home, I knew that we would always be together. The only permanent separation I could envisage was in the event of natural disaster, at which point I would be forced to save my husband and son and may not be able to rescue her from her hook fast enough.
But, fingers crossed, that was unlikely. I mean, realistically, it would only add a couple of seconds to the total escape time.
I let my mind drift. It was a Sunday. I was working at my desk, writing something important probably. My husband grabbed the keys and waltzed out for a coffee, returning to my side an hour or so later with a large, takeaway latte and a glorious vintage hat.
As he stepped through the door, time slowed. The background blurred, and I levitated momentarily, greedily grappling the air in a kind of mad lunge only able to be produced by those vaguely obsessed by vintage headwear.
The fact was undeniable- she was beautiful. I adored her. Full brimmed, tan felt, a golden satin band and matching, hand-stitched decoration. Two seconds before, I had felt so common. Only seconds later, I was holding fashion gold.
That evening, I sat down and took a look at the label:
Lindsay Kennett
High Fashion Original
Auckland.
I flipped open the computer and plugged those few choice words into Google. Before my eyes, an elderly gentlemen appeared, rather dapper, glasses and clearly fashion savvy.
High society Milliner, 40s and 50s, I read. Mad about Hats! Take your hat off to Lindsay! Hats! Lindsay! Hats!
Scrutinising the photo further, I let out a little squeak, along with some random, meaningless gesticulation. I knew that face! I had sat next to him at the just gone iD Dunedin Fashion week.
In the midst of polite conversation, I had let this pearly gem of a man slip through my fingers. What an ignorant fool! Things escalated from there. And armed with my hat and the information of a popular internet search engine, I set out to find Lindsay and thank him for my hat.
Fast-forward a week or two and it was Thursday, 9.30 am. Although still enthusiastic (possible understatement), I had momentarily stalled. My mind had been ticking over, stewing slightly.
Talking on the phone, Lindsay had been very keen to see my hat. I collect them, he told me. So do I, I told him. I would love to see what you have, he says. Please, yes, do bring it!
As time passed by, I began to get concerned. I mean, what was the proper etiquette? Did he think that I was going to give him my hat? And even worse, should I? Was I, Jane Pike, going to deny this man, a milliner of great note, whose hands had lovingly crafted my favourite garment- an elderly man at that- an integral piece for his collection?
The answer was crystal clear. I most definitely was. The fabulous Lindsay was allowed to touch my hat, but under no circumstances was he allowed to keep it. If the hat was going to stay, then, hello Lindsay, so was I.
Knocking on the door of his house in Belleknowes, I was greeted by the lovely, smiling face of Lindsay Kennett. We introduced each other and shook hands in a way that only mutual hat lovers can. I held his gaze an extra second, hoping that the gratitude I felt was plainly obvious. Walking in, I let out a happy sigh, and soaked up the feast of books, antiques and memorabilia from many bygone eras along with a host of fashion collectables.
And let's not forget the hats.
I leave them out in case reporters drop by, he tells me.
I nodded. Competition. That was fair enough. I knew I couldn't be his first.
I gave my hat a little squeeze. Yep. Still had the upper hand.
We both sat down and I give myself a silent pep talk about being a grown up. I was a professional. Professionals mustn't gush.
Lindsay hands me a fistful of his fashion drawings, a virtual banquet of texture, colour, beauty and style.
As I gaze at them with joyful eyes, my mouth opens and a waterfall of wordy enthusiasm spews forth.
"Oh Lindsay! Look at your drawings! Looks at your hats! They are beautiful! Of don't mind me.... May I? Really, you don't mind?? Oh, thank you! Oh, you are so clever!! Wow! Am-maz-zing!!"
Epic fail.
There was no use fighting it. There was nothing left to do but harness the passion.
For the next two and a half hours, Lindsay and I chat. We talk hats. We talk life. We watch a bit of a DVD, snippets of previous interviews and fashion shows. Turns out Shanghai Express from 1932 is his favourite movie, but the 1910 flick Death in Venice is the best one if you're interested in people watching and hats.
I make a mental note and silently berate myself for not having seen them, a missed chance of making an impression. I'm not sure he would have seen the latest Bond. Were there in hats in that? Move on Jane, move on.
The piece de resistance. I hand over my hat.
Lindsay smiles, says that he remembers it. Modelled on the Garbo style of the 1930's, Lindsay skilfully crafted my hat in the early to mid 1960s for Smith and Caughey's during his time in Auckland.
"I couldn't make this now because I couldn't get the felt to do it in. This is a very fine fur felt, it would have been from France or Italy. To get it now would be fearfully expensive. This particular hat would have been for smart afternoon ladies wear, worn with a smart suit. It has quite a tailored look about it, which is softened by the folds in the crown and the soft brim line..."
I smile a gloated smile and gently take my hat away. Things were going so well. One wouldn't want him to get too attached.
"I have 130 hats or so, the styles ranging as far back as 1910. Some of them are out, but most are stored away."
I imagine myself lost in Lindsay's storage space, trying on hat after hat, wafting about eating Lindt chocolate and looking fabulous. I'm sure I could conquer 130 hats in under two hours.
Trying to maintain my focus, I ask Lindsay about the many and varied Pillbox hats I can see adorning his shelves and cupboard space.
"I didn't want to make any more hats when I retired, but I had to," he laughs. "Now, though, it can only be a Pillbox, because I don't have the equipment any more for all the other styles."
"The Pillbox is really my favourite- you can make them in so many different dimensions. Six different people wearing six different Pillboxes could look quite different. It depends very much how you wear it and how it is decorated. The most important thing to pay attention to is the line."
I felt so lucky. Here I was having a natter with New Zealand's original high society milliner. It was a total score.
"The biggest thing that happened to me was very early on in my career, involved to Aage Thaarup, a Danish milliner in London, who was the Royal milliner at the time and had the Royal Seal. The Queen was coming out here just after her coronation, visiting the Antipodes, and Aage Thaarup thought it would be a good idea if he came beforehand and brought collections of hats that dignitaries would buy and wear. Everybody wore hats at the royal occasions you see."
"Well, it was almost the last minute before he found out that we weren't allowed to import hats, so he had to change the whole concept of the thing and send out cellophane bags with material and a drawing and the trimmings in each cellophane bag, and dispatch them to the various stores that he was going to appear in."
"For instance in Wellington, we were going to be at James Smiths and I happened to be down in Wellington at that time trying to sell my own hats to James Smiths. I took a collection with me, showed them to the buyer- who was a dragon lady- and she put it all back in the box and ran away. I thought, what a strange thing to do!!
"I waited and waited and waited and she came back with the managing director and then she told me that Aage Thaarup was coming out to New Zealand and he can't bring made up hats with him. She said I think that your hats are of such quality that he would be pleased if you could make some of them. At the time, I felt very foolish by saying yes, but I did and I made those hats!"
"Afterwards, I thought, what a nerve, making hats for a London Milliner and you have only been making hats for two years! "
I asked Lindsay if he had ran and squealed out the back like I would have but it appears that he was slightly more composed. A sneaky beverage? Fist pump in the air? Anything?
"Ha! Well I had to go back to Auckland afterwards, and shortly after the materials arrived and the instructions and I set to and made them! I then had to send them back to Wellington. After about a fortnight, I had a ring from Mr Thaarup himself, who said he was coming to Auckland and would I do the same thing for him in Auckland."
"That news spread round, and I must say, although it is a sad thing to say, that there were sour grapes everywhere. And in a way I don't blame people, I suppose they thought that I was a bit of an upstart! It was a push along though and other firms rang me and asked if I would supply them with hats and the business just went like that."
From here, Lindsay went on to supply all of the major department stores throughout New Zealand, making a name for himself internationally, in addition to his increasing notoriety at home.
"Phillip Somerville was a New Zealand boy who went off to live in England and worked for a Milliner called Otto Lucas, who had a royal warrant. When Otto Lucas died, Phillip took over his business and it gradually also took over his name. He is the same age as me (85 years old), and only retired two years ago from doing a lot of the Queen's hats."
"Phillip was responsible for introducing Lady Di to the ‘big' hats. I was in constant contact all the time with him, he would come over here and we would exchange little tricks of the trade. I had one or two tricks that I showed him, and he said, ‘I hope you don't mind but I will have to put that into the Queen's hats'. I had invented little thing at the back to hold the hats in position you see. That was a good one."
The Queen's tick of approval. Nice Lindsay, very nice indeed.
I ask him his thoughts on modern day hat wearing, whether he predicted a return of the hat to it's previous prestige days.
"People's style's are so much more casual now, you really can wear anything now. We have largely rejected the formality of how fashion used to be. The hat is still popular, but mainly for events. Like weddings. Some people are wearing them at weddings."
All the cool kids are wearing them Lindsay, I tell him. We have a little chuckle.
The ones with style will always wear a hat.
