The Hat Maker – Part 1: Measure Twice

"Hold still," said Valeria.

"I'm holding still."

"You are thinking about holding still. It's different." Valeria laughed and ran the cloth tape slowly around Jess's head, just above her ears. "Fifty-seven. Fifty-seven and a half. Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"You have a very decided head."

The workshop was a narrow room in San Telmo, with a pressed-tin ceiling, a steam kettle hissing in the corner and a wall of wooden hat blocks in every shape. Felt hung in soft colours from hooks. The air smelled of warm wool and starch. Jess, thirty-four, a costume designer from London in town for a three-week production, had come in to buy a souvenir. She had not expected to be measured by a woman with silver hoop earrings, rolled sleeves and a tape measure draped around her neck like a stole.

Valeria, thirty-eight, the maker, spoke English with a rich, rolling accent and took everything slowly. "A real hat takes four fittings," she said. "You must come back."

"I'm only here three weeks."

"Then you must come back often."

Jess did. She stood on a stool with her arms out while Valeria pinned and shaped warm wet felt over the block. She learned the words for brim, crown and band. She drank sweet maté from a shared gourd. By the third fitting, Jess was ignoring her rehearsals to sit in the corner and watch Valeria work.

"You're distracting me," said Valeria, without turning.

"Am I?"

"Yes. It's pleasant." She set down the iron. "May I ask you to dinner? As a person, not a customer?"

"I'd love that," said Jess.

Continue the story: Part 2 – The Fitting.

Continue the story: Part 2 – The Fitting.