There were many things I found odd at first and then grew to love during the 12 years I spent in Britain: Pimm’s, summer pudding, wellies. However, the one thing I could never quite get my head round – or under, to be exact – was the fascinator: those inexplicable quasi-hats that are more like the idea of a hat than any meaningful headgear. Perhaps, I thought, they are a cultural step too far; a social signifier that a Yankee can never penetrate; the final proof I am from a different gene pool of dresser. Read more
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