Ladies' headgear has become of late so increasingly freakish that even fashion writers are beginning to refer to "these mad little hats."
I sing of the hat, of the human lid, The cadev, the tile, or whatever you please, The thing that we wear -- or our fathers did For the making of comfort and greater ease. Man suffers a roof up over his head 'Gainst the wind and the weather, to keep them out; But as for a woman, when all is said, It's the very last thing she thinks about. Why queer "creations" should deck her brow, Or the back of her neck, or her small pink ear, She hasn't the least idea, I vow; For out of the blue come things of fear, And, all in a night as it were -- like that -- Every matron and maid in town Abandons the saucer she had for a hat For a thing like a billy-can upside down. Weird fruit salads and flower-decked tiles, Dingle-dangles, roosters and bows, Furs and feathers have served the styles And what is the next craze no man knows. But the cruel thing that I have heard said I still deny, as I ever denied: That the crazy affairs on the feminine head Give evidence clear of the stuff inside.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2002|