One woman's search for the perfect Kentucky Derby hat

The first time I met the hat, it stared me down — all 16 grand inches of it, pale pink adorned with a satin band, hot pink dahlias and a spray of quivering pink-and-white feathers.

Yet soon it was atop my head, perched precariously this way, then that.

We regarded one another in the looking glass. I think it sensed my fear.

Would I wear it, I wondered? Or would it wear me?

Hats have haunted me these past few months. Ask my friends. They'll vouch for my hours of online research, my elation at discovering a milliner in Madison Valley, my concern that I'd never find the perfect hat to match my perfect lemon-yellow chiffon dress.

That's what I'll wear Saturday to my first Kentucky Derby, a fashion event on a scale that seems otherworldly to my stubbornly practical Northwest mind-set. Here, we still marvel when guys bother to wear suits to weddings. Here, moms in fleece and jeans saunter into the ballet alongside moms in stylish frocks.

Here, "hat" means a) a knit cap worn while skiing or boarding, b) a baseball hat, or maybe even c) a cowboy hat. A pink hat with feathers? Where would you ever wear that? Ooh, but let me try it on first.

I wouldn't have it any other way. But when in Louisville ... well, you know the rest.

And that's how I found myself at Henrietta's Hats in Seattle, soaking up advice on all manner of Southern etiquette from Henrietta herself, who hails from Texas. Like the dozens of fancy hats that bloom inside her shop, Henrietta seems of another place and time, when ladies wouldn't think to leave the house without looking pulled together.

She sized up my coloring, petite frame and dress, then introduced a dizzying array of options. Big hat or small? Metallic or natural? Bold or demure? She fitted a bronze hat to my head. Then one in silver. Red. Purple. Gold. Creamy white. A flurry of feathers and rhinestones and ribbon.

Whoa. Could any of these be me?

You'll know when it's the right one, she assured me. You'll work it.

And so I did. Something about the pink hat compelled me to preen and pose, to tip it to just the right jaunty angle that would show the hat who's in charge. I left the shop giddy, swinging the hat box by its string.

My newfound confidence helped me later recognize my perfect hat: A curvaceous cream chapeau whose broad brim and bow are the perfect complement to my dainty Derby dress. I'll wear the pink to Kentucky Oaks, the races the day before.

Here's the thing I've learned about fancy hats: Wearing them changes you. Their width, like crossing a busy street with an umbrella, commands you to reconsider how you move about this crowded world. Their styles help telegraph the person you are or the person you aspire to become.

I am bursting with the energy my pink hat conveys. I aspire to the cream hat's more ladylike manner.

I find myself daydreaming of other events that might call for my hats: Weddings, parties, dress-up days at Emerald Downs, Easter. Heck, maybe I'll sip champagne and Pimm's at England's Royal Ascot someday if the dollar ever gets stronger against the British pound.

And as long as I live on my beloved, casual-is-king West Coast, there's always Halloween.

Karen Gaudette: 206-515-5618 or kgaudette@seattletimes.com