Why Are the British So Fascinated by Fascinators? (2024)

When I got married almost a year ago, a number of stylistic rites of passage fell by the wedding wayside. My bridesmaids wore white. There was no “something blue” (except for my partner’s Gucci suit). And my husband and I got ready for the lunchtime ceremony together, having chosen to walk down the aisle side by side.

For me, those decisions were a no-brainer, but they left a ce,rtain member of my bridal party just a soupçon stressed. My mom was perplexed over whether, to attend her daughter’s fairly low-key London wedding in the spring, she should wear a hat, a fascinator, or an (entirely new to me but apparently very big in the mother-of-the-bride community) alternative known as a “hatinator.” Not helping mom’s millinery musings? She had heard word of weddings where fascinators had, either due to their apparent informality or bridal misgivings, been banned.

“Fascinators are not permitted,” reads the dress code for Ascot’s Royal Enclosure. Headbands with outré embellishments—feathers, organza and sinamay swirls, corsages, bows and beading, or in the case of Isabella Blow’s famed Philip Treacy and Alexander McQueen fascinator collection, the microscopic hulls of ships, lobsters, tiny buildings or arrowheads—are not deemed sufficiently posh for racing’s most aristocratic enclave. The guidelines continue: “A headpiece which has a solid base of four inches or more in diameter is acceptable as an alternative to a hat.”

It’s ironic that Ascot’s Royal Enclosure discourages fascinators, as they’re the millinery must-have at many other events on the society calendar. In hat history, the fascinator dates back to the 1770s and Marie Antoinette, who placed feathers and gems amidst her rococo ringlets. Come the King’s coronation on 6 May, royal-watchers will have their eyes peeled not just for Operation Golden Orb’s associated priceless regalia (coronets, swords, scepters et al), but also the fascinators festooning the modern elite’s pompadours. So who is responsible for the royals appearing to be, at times, a little gung ho with the glue gun?

We can thank Princess Diana for many things when it comes to style—retro lo-fi gym and ski looks, lessons in revenge dressing, color-pop skirt suits, and prairie collars among them. And also, in the ’80s, the not-quite-a-hat. She had a selection of wide-brimmed and pillbox hats by Philip Somerville, Catherine Walker, Viv Knowland, and John Boyd, but also many headpieces that were disc-shaped and compact, worn to weddings and ceremonial events, that might veer into, in modern parlance, “hatinator” territory.

Queen Camilla will be trading up from her beloved collection of feathered, foliage, and flower-festooned Philip Treacy hats and fascinators on May 6, when she will be crowned with a modified version of Queen Mary’s Garrard crown, originally commissioned for the 1911 coronation of George V. Scrutinise her extensive collection, and it’s notable that Camilla also has a predilection for headbands that have been given an haute glow up. She broke with custom on the day of her civil wedding ceremony to the then Prince of Wales in 2005, wearing a wide-brimmed ivory hat instead of a tiara for her daytime nuptials, before changing into a headband that glowed with curving golden wheat sheaves.

Back in the 19th century, what we now know as a fascinator is said to have been referred to as a “cloud.” In which case, the Met Office should have issued a severe weather warning ahead of the 2011 wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton, a landmark royal event so awash with fantastical fascinators it kickstarted a contemporary obsession. Cue Victoria Beckham in a precarious Philip Treacy pillbox creation, Queen Sofia of Spain sporting a netted lilac confection, and Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie also in daring Treacy designs (which attracted much tabloid derision at the time). Beatrice took it all in her stride—she later sold her headpiece for £81,100 on eBay, donating the money raised to UNICEF and Children in Crisis.

After the pandemic brought about a period of pared-back wedding guest dressing, Lucy Knight, a personal stylist at John Lewis, has observed a renewed focus on maximalist millinery. “We’ve noticed a trend for larger hats rather than small fascinators,” Knight says. Bold colors like hot pink and cobalt blue are proving popular, as is specifically, John Lewis’s wide-brimmed Sofia hat, imagined in a sorbet-pink abaca that both the late Princess Diana and Queen Camilla would approve of. When customers are opting for fascinators, they’re choosing larger, disc-shaped iterations.

What exactly will decorate the heads of guests at the Coronation remains to be seen. Perhaps, in line with the (relatively) low-key nature of the 21st-century celebration—for which peers have been asked to wear parliamentary robes rather than those imagined in ceremonial crimson velvet with white ermine trim—millinery will be more streamlined than statement. Maybe hats and fascinators will bloom with florals in a nod to King Charles’s green-fingered eco-credentials, or scaled-back embellishments will reflect the sober economic mood. I know one person in particular who will be watching with interest: my mom.