But I never ventured into the shop to satisfy my curiosity. After all, what if a work colleague happened to spot me walking in? He mightn’t realise that I was a dedicated newshound, on the trail of the scoop of the century. Chances are, he would mistake me for the sort of prat who might be interested in buying a poncy hat. I’d never live it down.

Fantasies

I would often linger outside the hat shop on those walks to and from the pub. Fantasies about Bond films soon fled from my mind — and in their place, a new and even more fanciful idea began to take root.

I started to tell myself, as I looked through the window at that pile of £29 trilbys: ‘You know, Tom, it might actually be quite nice to have a hat like that.’

Last week I finally did it!

After one more pint than usual, I drew a deep breath, crossed the threshold, pointed at the trilbys and said: ‘I’d like one of those, please.’

I’m now the proud owner of a handsome grey trilby — and wondering why it took me such an eternity to pluck up the courage to buy it.

At the root of my cowardice, I suppose, is the deep-seated yearning of the human
male to conform. Though we may not admit it, most of us want nothing more than to blend into the crowd.

Shame

Another objection to my buying a trilby was my two younger sons’ utter horror at the idea. In their view, their father is quite embarrassing enough bare-headed. But in a trilby! They let me know that they’d disown me entirely if I dared to buy one.

They wouldn’t be seen dead, they said, with a prat in a hat.

The more I have thought about it, the more I believe that the urban male’s decision to abandon the hat — taken en masse on both sides of the Atlantic in the middle of the last century — is one of the most inexplicable phenomena of modern history.

A hat like my new one is not only smart, but extremely comfortable and practical.
It keeps me warm (they are quite right when they tell us that we lose more body heat through our heads than anywhere else) — and it keeps me dry when I’ve forgotten my umbrella (which is always).

Civility

There’s also something about hats — perhaps because they remind us of a past and
gentler age — that seems to encourage courtesy and civility. The rituals of removing
them indoors and raising them in greeting or deference to a woman seem to shape their wearers’ general conduct throughout the day.

Which brings me to the shopkeeper a. After owning a trilby for a week, I no longer think his shop is a front for a sinister government agency. I’ve decided that he’s extraordinarily nice to his customers simply because that’s what hat people are — extraordinarily nice.

Let us resolve, in the icy chill of the recession now upon us, to reclaim proper hats
from attention-seekers and eccentrics — and restore them to their proper place on
the heads of wise and conventional folk like you and me.

London Evening Standard - 'Hats off to tweedy old Kensington'
Richard Godwin

An invitation arrives in the post. Hornets, the gentlemen's attire shop in Kensington, is to stock Christys' hats and it's having a party to celebrate. In attendance will be Steve Cossey, the last apprenticed hatter working in the UK, a man who "knows everything about making a hat".

The reality of this party was even better than the invitation suggested. A small crowd of regulars squeezed into the little store to drink champagne, politely pass up the sandwiches and inspect the new arrivals. Mr Cossey, true to his claims, did indeed know everything about making a hat, having spent seven years learning how as long as it takes to become a junior doctor.

Hornets' stock, a mixture of second-hand and specialist, comes with stories attached, not just the hats. It has an incredible range of tweed and worsted. If I were to need a cummerbund, this is the place I would come to.

Yet more remarkable is the charming obliviousness of the staff in all three branches to the vulgarities of the high street. You are treated with courtesy and respect, whatever your budget.

Only in Kensington do you find its exact combination and commuting here from north-east London each day, I have grown to love the contrast. While Hackney's population is essentially transient, Kensington has been secure in its wealth and poshness for decades. It is insulated from too much change; there are people living comfortable lives here who you would only otherwise expect to find in an episode of Poirot.

Naturally, if some of Hornets' tweeds were for sale in Hoxton, they would probably be going for twice the price.

Financial Times Magazine - 'A Passion for Fashion'
Jonathan Futrell

A tweed jacket, on the other hand, "is the most useful garment in the world," says William (Bill) Hornets, who reckons the third, and newest, of his small Hornets chain of vintage clothing stores in Kensington is the tweediest shop in London. "You can wear it with a pair of smart trousers and a tie and go for cocktails, or you can dress is down with a pair of jeans". A tweed jacket, whether modern lightweight or traditional bruiser, is like a pair of Levi's; it requires breaking in to genuinely radiate. And it's why increasing numbers of men are turning vintage. Pre-worn tweed contains all the colour, durability and masculinity - with character and comfort already "lived in". At any given time Hornet's range offers around 250 tweed jackets (from £69), from 1 to 40 years old.

As Etro says, it takes confidence to wear tweed. Whether it's lovat green, dogtooth, herringbone or overchecked with crimson, blue or orange, the colours and patterns are almost irrelevant. "They all sell," says Hornet's. "It doesn't matter about the colour. The only ones we can't move are those with the leather golf ball buttons".

And is there an explanation? After all, my own tweed has leather buttons, 20 in all. In fact, I'm very proud of my golf ball buttons. "Too many images of old men in Dunn & Co jackets waiting at the bus stop". Which wouldn't be at all tweedy in 2008.

Chaps Magazine

HORNETS. Long-established in Kensington, this trio of shops is bursting with quality tweed, serge, worsted and cavalry twill. The stock includes jackets, suits, hats (new and second-hand), shoes, ties, cravats, in fact a gentleman could construct an entirely new wardrobe.

Observer Magazine - Fashion - My Favorite Outfit - Sam Bompas (11/11/07)

"There's a chap who virtually dresses me at a shop called Hornets. It's a second-hand Gent's clothing shop in Kensington Church Walk. Full of Saville Row suits and weird and wonderful military dress jackets. The shoes have been resoled so many times I've propbably paid five times as much in repairs as I did originally. They're from Hornets; they're Carvillle. The company strapline is "The shop for the amorous man", which is slightly creepy. Clothes are a mechanism of communication - people are adept at reading clothes, and you can manipulate that. Wear a bicorn hat or a hussars jacket to a party and everyone will pay attention.; My style icon 'Toad from Wind in the Willows'."

".....I wear a suit every day, I am passionate about them and love the cut of a good suit. It puts me into work mode and makes me feel grown-up and serious, i own a dozen or so, and most are bespoke, although hardly any were actually made for me. They're second-hand and I usually spend about £200 on them.

I favour Hornets, a wonderful second-hand gentleman's clothing outfitters tucked away in Kensington. The owner has been in the game for donkey's years and knows more about tailoring than anyone else I know.

Hornets has two shops: one for suits, smoking jackets, black tie and coats - I have a 1960's Aquascutum overcoat with ivy green velvet collar that cost £90 - and the other for sports jackets, shoes, jumpers and shirts. It's the great suit secret of London for those in the know.

The trick is to find a suit that is a pretty good fit, then take it to a tailor who for £30 or so, will tweak it to fit perfectly.

I have, among others, a Henry Poole, a Chester Barrie, a Timothy Everest and a Huntsman. The owner of the Poole suit has five made every year and discards the old ones annually - mine hadn't been worn once. They would have been about £2000 new."

Hornets says:"Silk velvet is ordinarily wildly expensive. Vintage is all about stepping away and developing an individual and distinctive style. Quality always speaks for itself. It's as simple as that".

The smart guide to budget London - "Hornets for the best Secondhand Tailoring".