10 minute read
THE GLAD HATTER
The Journal pays a visit to the characterful New Quebec Street boutique and studio of John Boyd Hats, where milliner Sarah Marshall makes and sells her skilfully handcrafted creations
Words: Clare Finney / Images: Orlando Gili
Sarah Marshall at John Boyd Hats
“The more weddings you go to,” my editor once observed, “the more you remember them like episodes of Friends.” There’s the one where the father of the bride’s speech described, in graphic detail, his daughter’s birth; the one where a bridesmaid broke up with her fiancé over the breakfast; and – my personal favourite – the one where the mothers of the bride and groom inadvertently wore the same outfit, right up to and including their hats.
“It does happen sometimes,” laughs milliner Sarah Marshall, when I recount this story over coffee in her small, enchanting shop on New Quebec Street. “Not the mothers of the bride and groom – I’ve never had that before! – but people who’re going to the same wedding being drawn to the same style of hat. I had it the other week with a bride, her sister and mum.”
Of course, the chances of their choosing matching hats is infinitely lower if they’re shopping here rather than in say, Accessorize, where hats are off the peg and manufactured in their thousands – but there are occasions which require the milliner to “very tactfully steer a customer. When I realised their mother had been here and bought a very similar hat to the ones they were trying on, I said: ‘You’d better take some pictures and show them to your mum.’”
Mercifully, no two hats are exactly the same, so even if Sarah hadn’t clocked that the three were related and attending the same wedding, the fallout would have been minimal. “You might have a similar style, but one person will go for a different colour, or a smaller brim, or add a flower.” The flowers – soft and deceptively natural, a far cry from the stiff artifices gracing most mass-manufactured hats – are handmade, either by Sarah or by an elderly couple in Germany. Each hat is crafted by hand at the back of her shop and tailored precisely to fit both its owner’s head and their outfit. “I am a craftsperson, first and foremost,” she explains, “but I love meeting customers and helping them find their hat, and the two elements of the work go hand in hand. How can you have any idea if your hats will suit if you’re making them in a separate place from the people you’re making them for?” Besides, she continues, “customers love to see where we make them. It’s an unusual thing.”
It certainly is, I think, feasting my eyes on the wooden hat blocks lining tall shelves at the back of her shop; on the pinboard, stuck with scraps of fabric and pictures; the tall drawers of flowers. The blocks in particular are compelling, varying in size, shape and colour: from light, amber and shiny to dull, dark and riddled with tiny holes. These holes are not woodworm, Sarah explains, but pin marks from where they’ve been worked on over decades gone by. “The darker they are, the older. Some could be 100 years old – even older.” Most of them come from Luton. Though better known today for its airport, Luton has long been the national centre of millenary, she continues. “Even today, that is where our lace comes from, and any new blocks if we want them. We make our own shape, using canvas and wires, and the blockmakers carve it so you have your own new style.”
For the most part, though, Sarah draws upon history; the vintage styles of the 20th century when hats were not just for royalty and races but were par for the course for most people. “That’s the sort of hat you’d have put on if you were going for cocktails with a girlfriend,” she smiles, as I don a black beret with a dainty net veil. In fact, it’s a John Boyd original, she continues, designed by the founder himself soon after he began his business in post-war London. “That’s his signature look, which we’ve been making since he started. It’s simple, not-too-showy, and you can see how the line draws attention to your eyes.”
John Boyd opened his shop in Knightsbridge in 1947, after an inauspicious start making wellington boots at the British Rubber Company. By 1960, word of Mr Boyd’s eye-catching hats had reached the be-pearled ears of Princess Anne, “a real fashion leader at the time,” says Sarah. In the 1980s, the trend for big hairdos put hats on hold until Diana Spencer’s mother decided her daughter’s image needed smartening up if she was to secure her prince charming. She took her to her milliner, John Boyd, who went on to make the hats for several of Diana’s most iconic outfits, including the peach tricorn she donned for her ‘going away’ outfit after her wedding.
Understandably, Sarah is discreet when discussing today’s VIP clients, though they “have made a few for the Duchess of Cambridge – and are always open to making more!” she adds, should the duchess happen to pick up a copy of the Marylebone Journal. Princess Kate’s custom exemplifies the loyalty many families feel toward John Boyd Hats, which in many cases is now onto its third generation of customers. “Mr Boyd’s clients grew old with him, and their children and then grandchildren started seeing us,” says Sarah, who inherited the business upon his death in 2018. “It was a huge surprise,” she recalls. “I’d worked with him for 17 years, loved the business, and was running it toward the end – but I didn’t have any idea that was going to happen. It was a real honour to be able to carry his name forward.” Yet no sooner had Sarah taken up this precious millinery mantle, the pandemic hit, and every conceivable reason for hats disappeared. “Weddings, Royal Ascot, the Grand National – all those things were cancelled, of course, so there was no custom. It was difficult for all milliners.” The pandemic did yield a silver lining, however – without it Sarah would perhaps never have wandered the empty streets of London and alighted upon New Quebec Street. “I inherited the business from Mr Boyd – but I didn’t inherit the building, so I needed to find somewhere else,” she explains. “I used the time in lockdown to wander the city. I fell in love with this area, with its pretty streets and independent businesses, like Suzannah [the luxury and formal wear boutique] and the Alterations Boutique. They send their clients to us, and we send our clients there.”
If fashion is art (and many argue it is) then milliners, like jewellers, are more like sculptors than painters. The craft is fundamentally three dimensional – which is important, says Sarah: “I rarely sketch designs out. I get my inspiration from a flower, or material, or the shape of the block, and I work from there.” As she works, she can see how the material stretches, how the flower or veil drapes, how the shape comes together as a whole – and make adaptations accordingly. Crucial to her designs, as it was to John Boyd’s, is the line of the hat– that is, the angle the viewer’s eye is first drawn to. “You want to draw their attention to the wearer’s eyes. Mr Boyd’s main thing was about flattering a woman, making her feel beautiful and comfortable; about putting the woman, rather than the hat, first.”
This, to me, is a strong selling point. The main reason I don’t wear hats is that I invariably feel like a hat’s support act. “I’d like to introduce you to my hat,” is what I feel like saying when I’m wearing one – so as a result, I almost never do. This idea of the line – of a milliner prioritising my face above their creative flair – makes me feel more at ease with the idea than I have ever done, to the point where I’m even tempted to try some. “I don’t make anyone try on hats if they feel awkward about it – but I do believe that those people who say they don’t suit hats just haven’t tried the right hat,” says Sarah. “I often have people come into the shop who say they hate hats, and by the time they leave they’ve tried everything on and I’ve helped steer them towards a hat that looks really good.”
This is easier said than done. As a gay man, John Boyd could deliver lines like “your chin looks big in that” or “that doesn’t work with your nose” with a directness Sarah cannot get away with. “He was brutal, and people loved it. I have to find a more tactful approach,” she laughs, “but you do have to be super honest. The worst thing you can do for your business, as well as for customers, is let people go off in the wrong hat.”
The more you wear a hat, the better it looks, she goes on – citing as an example the trilby, “which never used to have a dent in the top. That’s come about from people holding them at the top, and the dent being incorporated into the design because it looks good.” Sarah wants her hats to last a lifetime; to be more than another hat on a hatstand. Nothing gives her greater pleasure than a customer bringing in a John Boyd hat from 50 years ago and asking her to repair or update it. “These aren’t throwaway objects. I want people to love their hats and pass them on.”
Of course, this isn’t just a question of Sarah’s professional satisfaction, but of the environment. “I’ve always been interested in sustainability, and actually, millinery can be amazingly sustainable.” The majority of her materials are recycled or vintage; every single scrap is saved, as evidenced by the motley pin board; and if Sarah is making a hat to match a particular outfit, she will ask the atelier for their fabric cuttings so she can incorporate them. “Milliners are notorious for being economical with materials, and saving and using all sorts of scraps.” By offering a lifetime care guarantee, under which customers “can bring their hats back free forever and I’ll repair or adapt them to different occasions”, Sarah has woven sustainability into the heart of her business and into hats customers can cherish for decades. It’s almost enough to persuade me that the next wedding I attend could be the one where I finally wear a hat.
JOHN BOYD HATS 16A New Quebec Street, W1H 7RU johnboydhats.co.uk
