I have recently been reviewing Hats: An Anthology by Stephen Jones which has been published to partner the Victoria and Albert Museum’s first-ever exhibition of headwear, opening 24 February and running until 10 May. It’s an interesting read, peppered with lots of lovely photos and drawings, and gives a flavour of the forthcoming event, which I personally can’t wait to see. Stephen Jones is one of the world’s leading milliners, and the V&A show is a tribute to his work, as well as chance for the museum to highlight its collection of hats – many of which have never been seen before.
I once worked part-time for Stephen Jones at his studio in an effort to learn the tricks of the trade and immerse myself in the magical world of millinery. Having decided to push my hat-making in a more professional direction, I studied the subject for a year at the Kensington and Chelsea College, but felt that I needed more experience to really improve my technique. There seemed no better master from whom to learn, and I duly applied for a job and was accepted. Mr Jones turned out to be everything I’d hoped for – talented, whimsical, artistic, driven – and unusually for a designer, generous in passing on his skills to those following in his wake.
During that time I spent four days in seven at my old job working for the BBC, and one day a week helping with the Miss Jones ready-to-wear collection in a basement near Covent Garden. There couldn’t have been a greater contrast between those two worlds” I’d go from the fast-paced foreign desk in the huge BBC complex at White City, to the tight-knit Upstairs Downstairs team at Stephen Jones. I was fascinated and I was hooked. It was like time travel. We’d sit sewing, trimming, chatting and drinking tea until the head of the workroom signalled the end of the day by sounding her spoon on the edge of her cup. Only then did we know that we were at liberty to leave. The vast, frenzied machine of 24-hour news that I experienced for most of my working week stopped, and in its place I found a microcosm of a world dedicated to minutae – a colour not quite right, a bead misplaced or a bow missing a stitch. In a largely female environment, we’d fix broken hearts, lust over the latest fashions or try to get a glimpse of the glamorous celebrities popping in Upstairs for a fitting with Mr Jones. Although some of the work was monotonous (you try sewing on 500 felt circles without going insane!) you could usually count on something out-of-the-ordinary to stir things up: an urgent phone call from Paris requesting John Galliano’s two-foot high hats be finished by 5pm” Kylie’s feather head-dress to assemble” or a trip on the train to pick up some sculptural creations which had been silver-plated at an out-of-the-way foundry. And all the time you were subconsciously absorbing the ideas and vision of a man dedicated to his craft.
I no longer work for Stephen Jones, but my time in his imaginative world was well spent, not only for the inspiration it offered, but for the front row seat it afforded me at a unique show called “creativity.” It’s all too easy to live a life without creativity these days” after finishing at junior school many people never pick up a paintbrush, make a hat or write a poem ever again. More’s the pity I say. If I had my way, we’d all have the opportunity to carry on these activities into our adult lives. Maybe it would enable us to put our imaginations to better use – allow us to find more interesting solutions to some of the world’s most pressing problems.
So if you can, head to the V&A this spring to “ooh” and “aah” a little at the hats on display and the minds that have made them. No, it’s not rocket science, but it’s definitely evidence of the creative spirit at work. Millinery is having a moment, and I say “hats off” to that!
