Manufactory: For the love of straw

Straw hats have existed since ancient times. They are among the oldest headwear in the world and were worn in Africa, Asia, and Europe alike as sun protection when working outdoors. From the 17th century onward, the straw hat increasingly became a style item and, as is typical in fashion , fluctuated in popularity over the following years.

Hat fashion reached its peak in the 20th century; popular straw hats at the time included the flat "Canotier" with a narrow brim and the wide-brimmed "Florentine." They were favored by Ernest Hemingway, Paul Newman, and Lady Diana. However, during this period, hats also increasingly disappeared from everyday life: clothing became more casual, and straw hats rarely were worn at work. Today, the material and simple shape are primarily nostalgic – or serve as stylish sun protection on the beach. In recent years, however, the straw hat has also appeared repeatedly on the catwalk, including at Chanel, Jacquemus, and Dior.

Where you wouldn't necessarily expect to find it is in Berlin 's Neukölln district. Yet it's precisely there, surrounded by baklava shops and shisha cafes, that Susanne Stein, with her label "Suz," runs a pop-up store for straw hats.

It's a Thursday morning in late July, and unfortunately, the accessory of the day isn't a sun hat, but an umbrella. This is actually the best season for hats. Susanne Stein, 45, sits in her sewing corner, in the room that serves as both her studio and shop for two months. This isn't just practical; the small shop is also important for visibility, as summer is her main earning season. Suz makes a living by letting customers see how and where the hats are made—and who exactly makes them.

"My sewing machine is 120 years old; I found it on eBay," Stein says. Originally, the machine was powered only by a pedal, but its new owner installed an electric motor and had a carpenter make a frame and worktop. "The machine is designed for sewing straw, and the thread runs through it differently," she explains. She learned the traditional Swiss technique, which she uses when sewing straw hats, as a young woman.

Susanne Stein is a milliner, a trained milliner. She was born 45 years ago in Chemnitz, when the city was still called Karl-Marx-Stadt. She ended up in Berlin in the early 2000s, and discovered millinery more or less by chance. Her "penchant for fashion," as she puts it, first led her to an internship in a millinery shop, before deciding to complete a three-year apprenticeship. After working in factories and in the costume department of the Friedrichstadtpalast under designers such as Thierry Mugler and Jean Paul Gaultier, she started her own straw hat business two years ago.

What she likes about her craft is the immediacy: "You work directly with the material, directly in the three-dimensional form, and often directly with the clients," she says. Stein is petite, and on the back of her head, of course, sits a hat. It's black, pillbox-style, with her dark hair tucked underneath. Otherwise, she's dressed rather casually, wearing a ribbed top and an open, short-sleeved shirt over it. "Hats don't need a special occasion," says Stein. "They work in the city too, with sporty looks. Sometimes they're also good if you want to hide greasy hair," she adds with a laugh.

Stein has the impression that interest in hat fashion is currently growing. "The fact that more people are daring to wear hats is also linked to a heightened awareness of sun protection," she suspects. Perhaps it's also due to the pursuit of fashionable individuality.

Stein sources the dyed and machine-woven wheat braids used to make her hats from Italy. Where exactly they come from and how much she pays for them are trade secrets. Her cheapest hat model is available for €280, while the most expensive, a triangular hat reminiscent of Napoleon, costs €650. The nearly five-millimeter-wide straw ribbons used to create her designs dangle from a half-finished hat crown and curl like a ball of wool at Susanne Stein's feet.

She sews the beginning of a hat by hand, then continues on the machine, stitching the straw trim circle by circle into a round shape. The braided and sewn-together straws transform into a shiny surface.

She's currently working on the "Dalia" model, with a wide brim that can be folded back. A hat takes her at least three hours to make, but the work is often spread over several days.

Her collection this year consists of almost twenty designs. "I work without drawing. Everything develops in the process," says Stein. Once she is satisfied with a model, she has a set designer friend make negative molds out of wood or papier-mâché. These serve as templates so that she can produce the hats again and again. Stein places the crown piece she is currently working on over the mold, checks the proportions, and determines when the brim needs to be wider. She then adds more straw ribbon and changes the pressure with which she pushes it over the machine. When a hat is finished, she places it back on the mold, moistens it, and irons it. The heat makes the straw more elastic; when it cools, it wraps itself precisely around the template, and small dents disappear.

Almost all of the hats Stein sells are custom-made. "It's rare that a hat fits perfectly right away," she says. That's why Stein makes them specifically for her customers, based on their exact head size, varying the height or width of the hat to suit their face, and catering to color requests. Her "Circus" model is particularly popular on Instagram at the moment. It's an eccentric, striped hat without a brim, with a colorful pompom on top. She sells about two hats a week on Instagram, she says. She then explains to these customers via chat how to measure their heads. They have to wait almost three weeks for their order. She doesn't yet have her own online shop.

Susanne Stein currently makes most of her sales from the pop-up store. She tried out the concept for the first time last year, for a month; this year she's open twice as long. But she doesn't want to have a shop long-term. "I don't think it's contemporary anymore," she says. It's particularly not profitable for her in winter, as straw hats are only in season in summer. For the rest of the year, Stein therefore has to adapt. She produces headwear for theater productions, crafts straw hats for artists, teaches millinery at several fashion schools, including the Berlin University of the Arts, and sits on the examination board for aspiring milliners. But there are only a few of those left.

"Only one person in Berlin passed the milliner's journeyman's examination last year," reports Stein. "I find it sad that the profession is dying out and fear that a lot of knowledge about our technology is being lost." But she also sees that there isn't much room on the market for milliners. Demand is limited, there aren't any permanent jobs, and she, too, has no need for employees.

Walk-in customers are also rare. "Most customers come to my shop specifically because they've seen my hats online or heard about me from friends and acquaintances," says Stein. She leans back over the sewing machine. She's finished with the headpiece for "Dalia." She puts it aside and takes a second model called "Cross the Breeze" from the aisle, which she will ship to Bucharest in the coming days. A boutique there bought five hats from her. An inner band still needs to be sewn in to protect the hat from sweat. She pins it in place with small pins and makes adjustments. The final step, sewing it on, is done on a second sewing machine, which is designed for fabric.

Stein's movements are careful and precise, but not overly cautious. "You shouldn't treat a hat like a raw egg," she says. When she travels, she sometimes packs her hat in her bag; it can withstand that well. They just shouldn't get wet, so straw hats can still look good even after twenty years. Around midday, the shop door opens for the first time. A man in his thirties enters, with long brown curls and boots on his feet – the hipster type. Susanne Stein stands up. "Go ahead and try everything on," she encourages him. Stein estimates that around 80 percent of her customers are women, but many models are actually unisex. She divides her clientele into two groups: the passionate, extroverted hat wearers who collect models and are really knowledgeable. And the curious who want to try something new.

The young man who just came in belongs more to the first group. He knows his head circumference: 58 centimeters. Susanne Stein hands him a suitable model with a wide brim. He puts it on and examines himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, taking a few cell phone photos. Then he tells them that he has a shop in Zurich. They chat, and after about five minutes he leaves the store again – hatless. Outside, clouds are gathering across the sky, bad weather for hats. Susanne Stein sits back down at her workstation, in front of her a hat that just needs the final touches. With needle and thread in hand, she sews on a pompom. This is how the day will continue: sewing, small talk when someone drops in. A customer has booked in for the afternoon to pick up her finished hat.