So I’ve got this wonderful, witchy-poo hat. It’s black, it’s woollen. It has a musketeer feather that springs from its grosgrain ribbon, jauntily waving in the laneway breeze.
When I put on this hat, I must admit that I feel a bit magical. Part Stevie Nicks (minus the 70’s illicit substance shenanigans), part badass Jessica Lange in American Horror Story Coven. A little Game of Thrones, a lot serious writerly type listening to Podcasts at the NGV. It also has a sense of the Puritan about it – the kind of chapeau they’d have worn along with high-necked white blouses whilst exploring the New World. This hat has ‘tude, and I have more in it. I hope that you have one of these personality-enhancing hats to warm you through the coming cooler months – as they’re handy to hide under, or to pretend you’re someone else entirely while wearing. True, a large hat takes chutzpah to wear. But chutzpah? You’ve got it.
My hat (and I in it) ventured into the city to see my sweet friend S. She recommended we try Hardware Societe, and I’m glad we did (I have some misgivings about both Hardware Lane and breakfast in the city – both tend to disappoint more often than please). In short, Hardware Societe was buzzing with a line of punters to boot – and we queued for breakfast, it was only for a few minutes. It is Frenchy-Spanish, marble-table-topped and offers a decidedly feminine menu which I can imagine Marie Antoinette raising a flute of champagne to. I was happy to see they had decorated their business for Easter, with Springy nest table settings and Easter eggs a-plenty.
Moi? I had arroz con leche – a sweet rice pudding with salted caramel sauce and pears. S had truffled garlic mushrooms and brioche, equally delightful.
Annie Hall calling! There’s little more exciting than a day in the city free from responsibilities – and the possibility of wandering where your feet take you.
Wearing: H&M wunder-hat and knitted tights, Big W jacket, Country Road dress, vintage shoes.
Egg-cellent (see what I did there?) Easter display at Hardware Societe.
S’s toile t-shirt looks quaint on first impressions – but look closer and the cherubim are cursing the provincial scene they hover above.