Return to the Scene of the Hat
A Trip to Rome Means a Visit to Antica Cappelleria Troncarelli.
I’m in Rome and Naples this week. So, you’ll be seeing some Italy-related content on “The Mix” in the coming days—the newsletter’s first international copy! Very exciting. (I do get out of New York sometimes.) Expect to see some posts and field reports about Italian cocktails, cocktail bars, restaurants, coffee, art, trains, planes and ferries. And hats.
Hats are one of my enduring interests. Maybe I watched too many old movies as a kid, but I’ve always thought people looked better in hats. And I don’t mean baseball hats. Actual hats. I’ve sometimes wondered if I ended up writing about theater for many years, and then cocktails for many more years, because those are two demi-mondes where hats have not completely gone out of style. For many years, certain independent haberdasheries in New York have been kept in business by the Broadway theater. Costume designers depend on them for fedoras, homburgs, porkpies and straw boaters to outfit their productions of Guys and Dolls, Blithe Spirit, Death of a Salesman and The Music Man and other period pieces.
Knox Hats on Eighth Avenue used to be the big Broadway go-to hat hawker in Manhattan. That store has sadly gone the way of the Dodo. But J.J. Hat Center and Worth & Worth and a few more remain.
It’s been my habit for many years when traveling to quickly seek out the city’s heritage hat shop, if they have one. Over time, I’ve bought lids from Meyer the Hatter in New Orleans, Paris Hatters in San Antonio, Batsakes in Cincinnati, DelMonico Hatter in New Haven, Bates Hatters of London, and City Hatters in Melbourne. (I’ve always wanted to buy a hat at Optimo in Chicago, but I simply cannot afford it. They make the most expensive lids in the United States.)
In Rome, the top hat store is Antica Cappelleria Troncarelli. It is located just off Piazza Navona and has been in business since 1857. The shop, which is still in family hands, is currently run by fifth generation Andrea Troncarelli, son of Fulvio Troncarelli, who relaunched the shop following World War II.
I first visited Troncarelli in 2005. I was traveling with my son, Asher, who was four years old at the time. Now, let me tell you about little kids and Rome. Kids hate Rome. And with good reason. Because there is nothing for kids to do in Rome. I’ve never encountered a city that was less accommodating to needs of children.
Adults like Rome because adults love eating at restaurants and visiting museums and breathing in beauty and history. Kids hate eating in restaurants and visiting museums, and they don’t give a hoot about beauty and history. Kids like to go to playgrounds and amusement parks, of which Rome offers very few. I never appreciated how many playgrounds New York has until I went to Italy. So, no matter how much pizza and gelato we bought Asher, Rome bored him stupid. We found two solutions to this boredom. One was to let him watch all the “SpongeBob Squarepants” (in German) he wanted on the small television set in our rented apartment. The other fix was to buy him a new toy every day.
Did I mention that Rome is a bad place for kids? Another reason this is so is there are very few toy stores. I found only one in the Centro Storico. It’s still there, just off Piazza Navona. It’s called Al Sogno and it was founded on 1945. The way my mornings went on that trip was: I got up; got some coffee; and then listened to my son nag me until I gave in and walked him to the toy store. Often we got there before it opened and had to kill time on Piazza Navona until the owner unlocked the doors and we were able to select the day’s Lego.
Now, I didn’t mind this too much, because I love my son and like seeing him happy. Plus I love walking around Rome in the morning when the city is waking up, and I adore Piazza Navona with its grand and gorgeous Bernini fountain, Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi.
There was one other thing. The toy store, my son’s North Star, was mere yards from Troncarelli, my North Star. So while it may have seemed to Asher that the trip to the piazza was all for him, there were underlying motives afoot. While we strolled about waiting for the toy shop to open, we somehow always managed to land smack dab in front of the display windows of Troncarelli, where I took in their wares and planned my coming purchase.
Eventually, just as Asher got his toys, Daddy claimed his own. It was a grey tweed cap with flecks of red, blue and yellow in the pattern, and a bill sewn tight against the crown and a button on top. It wasn’t strictly my desire to buy a cap. I wanted a felt Fedora, the best they carried. But I was poor in those days and the trip was tightly budgeted. It’s a miracle it happened at all, actually, and another miracle we got home before we ran out of cash. So I settled for the cheaper wool cap. After all, there was absolutely no way I was going to leave Rome without a Troncarelli hat in my luggage. Who knew when I’d have the opportunity again.
As it turns out, my next opportunity wouldn’t be for 17 years. This year. And once again, there is no way I’m going to leave Rome without a Troncarelli hat. But this time, I’m not quite as impoverished, and I’m going to do a proper shopping. Also, my wife is in the habit of buying me hats, which is not a bad situation to be in.
We called on Troncarelli shortly after the shop opened at 10 a.m. It is a narrow store, incongruously located between two touristy trattorias, with no store remotely similar nearby. The interior is small, with various hats and caps piled to the ceiling on wooden shelves that line the walls on either side. The space was immaculate. Not a speck of dust.
Andrea Troncarelli himself was seated in the back at a work desk, busy putting bands on hats. He said nothing and barely looked up. On the wall behind the cash register were framed portraits of his father and grandfather.
The sole clerk on the floor (possibly Troncarelli’s daughter) was eager to assist, but a shade fell across her face when I mentioned my hat size, 63 (the European equivalent of 7 7/8). They had few hats that large. That would severely cut down on my choices. But a few specimens were found. And, given the warm May weather, a light-colored straw Borsolino with a wide brim and a dark blue band fit the bill.
The woman wasn’t done, though, and she successfully sold my wife Mary Kate on a gorgeous, golden brown straw number that perfectly suited her coloring. A navy blue bow tie with small white polka dots that matched one I’d lost and missed, and our shopping expedition was complete. (Like most hat stores, Troncarelli also carries accessories like ties, belts, umbrellas, suspenders and socks.)
Mr. Troncarelli was sufficiently pleased with our puchase that he emerged from his table and rang up the sale himself. I told him I had been there once before, 17 years ago. A slight raise of his gray eyebrows said “A long time ago” as much as anything could have.
I wore the hat out, strolling into the midday sun of the piazza. Next time I come to Rome, I’ll bring my son in for his own hat. I think he’s over toys now.
Great story! So, how do you pack your hats for air travel?
Looking sharp! A very impressive story. 👏👏