Hats off to Antonio Gatto

Vorrei comprare un capello. I want to buy a hat.

That was my singular request during our recent trip to Italy. Everything else was up for grabs; well, except for a repeat visit to see the work that brought Ephesians 2:10 to life before my very eyes: Michelangelo's David.

And not just any hat. No, I wanted one made by Antonio Gatto.

I'd read an article about the renowned and respected Florentine milliner who, as a child, hid under the sacred vestments embroidered by his aunts, “watching their fingers dance on the cloth," while memorizing how to do basting stitches. He's a sculptor of hats, transforming some of the most humble materials - felt and straw - into works of art. But that wasn't my primary motivation for acquiring a hat made by Mr. Gatto.

No. I simply wanted a hat that fit my head. Women's hats come in one laughable size: fits all.

Uh, no. They don't.

You need a hat to survive cold, snowy, blustery Midwest winters. One with a brim is crucial for protecting your eyes. I've made due with all manner of one-size-fits all chapeaus. Made due is the key phrase here because once I pull the crown far enough down to cradle my head, the brim is below my eyebrows, requiring me to lean my head back in order to see. This gives me an excellent view of the sky but not where I'm walking, which has caused a few embarrassing stumbles. Thanks to my amico, Antonio, things are looking up for the winter of 2014 because I'll be looking straight ahead!

When Doug and I arrived at his narrow shop, just steps from the Boboli Gardens and Palazzo Pitti, we were tired, hot and sticky with sweat after a day of sightseeing. The store was empty. Not a soul in sight. Which hat would I buy?

Maria, Antonio's delightful assistant, returned from lunch and carefully helped me try on a handful of possibilities. Once I saw myself in the mocha felt charmer, the deal, as they say, was sealed...almost. I wanted a black hat. My only option was the mocha hat because Antonio makes one, just one, of each design. Using a combination of hand gestures, rudimentary Italian and Spanish, and the tried-and-true-but-totally-unhelpful technique a talking LOUDER, I was able to make Maria understand that I wanted a custom-made version of the mocha hat...one that was measured and cut to fit my head...in black.

Next thing I knew, she called the man himself, Antonio Gatto, and announced that he was coming to the store.

 Now.

These types of spectacular, perfect-timing moments don't happen to me. But on this day, September 18, 2014, my 59th birthday, I was graced with an I-see-you-treasured-daughter gift from God.

Five minutes later, in strides the short, compact designer dressed in caramel pants and turtleneck, sunglasses and cell phone in hand.

He's honored I want to buy one of his hats. Yes, he will make one for me in black but he doesn't have the materials in stock. He'll buy what he needs the next morning. Could I come back tomorrow night at 7:30 and choose a hue of black from the felt he'll buy in the morning? That will give him enough time to craft the hat before we leave Florence on Sunday. Of course, I reply. Before we say goodbye, he measures my head.

The next evening, a Friday night, Doug and I make our way across the Ponte Vecchio to old Florence, where Antonio's shop is located. Approaching his store, we see him sitting at his work table, bathed in the golden glow of an overhead light. We take a moment to simply watch him, this man who creates art that serves a practical purpose.

I was in for a shocking surprise: I wasn't there to choose fabric. Antonio had done that himself and had finished my hat!

He carefully placed it on my head and slid it, pressed it down into place. Oh. My. It felt like a warm caress.

“A hat by itself is incomplete,” says Antonio. “It is the person who completes it, by wearing it a certain way, giving it a soul and a personality.”

Dear Antonio. You don't realize that making hats is a ministry, but it is. It's a blessing of beauty and calling out the uniqueness of God's children, including me.

My beautiful 59th birthday memory is secure in my head. Better yet, it's secure on my head.

Dio vi benedica, Antonio. God bless you.