Flemington racecourse was abuzz last night as hundreds of women (and a sprinkle of men) poured into the Atrium to experience an evening of Hatsravagance - an evening cocktail party of millinery and fashion. The Millinery had a definite presence, but I was not convinced about the fashion presence… and certainly not convinced of any obvious cocktail party vibe.
Nonetheless, the millinery was (as the name suggests) the main objective of this evening. With some forty milliners exhibiting their creations. There was colour, feathers, flowers and frills as far as the eye could see (and in my case, I can't see very far so it is true and fair for me to say this type of thing).
It was a "SOLD OUT" event according to the marketing team, and I believe it. A sea of hat-enthusiasts wandered through the room. Looking, trying, touching, ooo-ing, ahhh-ing.
For me, first thing was first. Find my mother. Once again, in my life of running just a little late, I tottered with pace from my car to the entrance. I groaned a little (in my head) at the non-walking-up-the-escalator guests as they stole more of my time. I arrived at the top of the escalators. A handbag, a camera bag. My ticket? Yes, in my bag. A tray of drinks. No, not just now, I need to find someone… pronto! Ah, but there she was waiting with Hillary Nylon (sister of the admirable Richard Nylon). Mum, as often, was dressed in black, wearing a sweet, black velvet headpiece. Phew! I made it. I wander with mum through the excited crowd to each of the millinery stalls.
First stop is Annie Clifforth millinery. Purple, orange, red, and black and white delights rest elegantly on their stands. Waiting to be loved but enjoying the adoration. My favourite is a pale green rochello with little pink glass flowers and wispy ivory peacocks. Purple is extremely (but not at all surprisingly) popular. The two purple pieces will sell to adoring owners later that evening. One shopper will be disappointed that she missed out on the purple dish with black, but she will place an order while her friend purchases a show-stopper black rochello with patent white flowers - one from the parade… she hunted it down. It had to leave with her.
Other stand-outs were Louise MacDonald's array of knife-edge pleats and soft pinks, browns, black and white. Richard Nylon always brings something different to the table. This year, he brought a selection of headbands. I watched as he demonstrated how to wear them to a curious customer. "They are good because they give the impression of a turban-style, without all the bulk at the back of the head". The turban-style was declared, to a fashion watching crowd earlier this year, by Peter Jago to be "fashion". You have to have a certain face-shape and style to sport the turban. I don’t have, therefore I don’t wear.
Serena Lindeman's table was colourful and interesting. My favourite was a small head piece with an upside-down waterfall of bows and flowers - raffia wound around shaped wire.
Brett Morely, who was positioned next to Annie Clifforth, demonstrated a fascinating take on modern millinery. His pieces are lace structures. Angular, poised, dramatic. They sweep from one side to the other - asymmetrical. They were popular "to try" but it would take a very brave shopper to make the commitment to take one of these home and promise to wear it with absolute stature to the track. A tiara of lace that sits just on the hair line.
As guests were ushered to their seats, I noticed that I had not been smart enough to plan a "coat on the chair" reserve for myself. The good seats are all taken. I decide to grab my "box of food goodies" and stand up the back. I will get a great view from there. After all, that is where the photographers are. I have a large camera. That makes me a photographer. I open the box of goodies and assess its contents. I eat a 3-bite chicken sandwich. Peter Rowland's chicken sandwiches have always been a favourite of mine. But since when did they put bacon in them! What a shame. Two strawberries, bite-sized carrot cake, fritatta rectangles, mini salmon bagel. Cute. I wish I had a drink.
The evening commences with Mark Vincent singing Nessun Dorma. His powerful voice fills the room. Silences it.
Opera is quickly replaced with house music. Fashion parade music. The hats are modelled. They float (but at speed) atop of models' heads. Colour, shape, height, angles, sparkle, flowers, elegance, interest, one I love, one not-for-me. I click away attempting to capture the evening through a lens.
At the end of the parade, guests clap, Richard Nylon and Kim Fletcher speak, they remind me of a pair of Oscar-presenters… they draw from a silver bowl, the winners of prizes. The formalities are over. The guests are advised. They now have a decision to make...to shop or not to shop?
I decide to get a drink but am told that there "are no more glasses". This is more of a shame than the bacon in my sandwich. What does that mean - no more glasses? Is it common for catering companies to provide one glass per guest these days? Let me guess… the GFC. Let down but shortly over it, I return to the Annie Clifforth stand.
The crowd thins. The lights get brighter. The evening is assessed with satisfaction. The works of art are carefully packed into their tissue-lined boxes. The venue clears. I collect a goodie bag on the way out. Spring Carnival is brewing behind me as I leave a dark Flemington. See you, and your blossoms, in a few weeks dear friend, and thank you for another good time!
