I have always been a hat hunter. Long before Wonder Hats, I used to be a kid with a hat always on, and then a tireless hat hunter. In every place I ever landed in, I did the same thing: I went looking for something to put on my head.
Catarzi, the classic, where Italian hat-making is still a religion in the little calli of Venice. A luxury hat atelier in Paris, all silk and sinamay. A London flea market, digging for the piece nobody else spotted. The boho hats somewhere between Ibiza and Tulum. And then Greece, the States, Croatia, Sardinia, South America... I've always collected proof that the hat was still alive.
My name was already a warning. Alice. Wonderland. The Mad Hatter. Some people inherit a business. I inherited an obsession.
For years I bought. I collected. I studied every shape until I knew it by heart. And then buying wasn't enough anymore. If I could recognise the perfect hat, I could create it. So I stopped waiting to find them and started deciding them: the lines, the colours, the forms. The research became a signature.
Here's how it works. I don't sew, and I never pretend to. I hunt the hands that still know how to make a hat properly: the Italian milliners who kept the ancient knowledge alive while the rest of the world moved on something else. I call them my Mad Hatters. I bring them my vision. They bring it to life with precious materials, historic wooden forms, invisible stitching. A work of art.
I grew up on music culture and the aesthetic revolutions of the 60s and 80s, when what you wore on your head told the world exactly who you refused to be.
That's still the deal.
"In a world that wants you the same, wearing a hat is the most revolutionary act you can commit."
