Lloyd's Treatise on Hats, with Twenty-Four Engravings: Containing Novel Delineations of His Various Shapes, Shewing the Manner in Which They Should Be Worn

In Short

This curious volume serves as both a practical guide and a social commentary on the Regency-era hat. It details the precise physical requirements for various styles—such as the "Regent," the "Shallow," or the "Eccentric"—and offers a candid look at the rigorous manufacturing processes and the secretive, insular labor unions of the London hatting trade. Written with a blend of professional pride and wry observation, it remains a testament to a time when a man’s identity was often inextricably linked to the precise angle and crown-height of his headgear.

The Story

The narrative begins with a defiant preface that dismisses the need for conventional introductions. The author establishes his authority not through grandiosity, but through a grounded, almost impatient pragmatism. He quickly pivots to the primary subject: the diverse catalog of hat shapes available to the discerning gentleman. The book moves through a series of descriptions, each style—from the "Tandem" to the "Baronet"—matched to a specific set of physical attributes. The author is remarkably blunt; he dictates the exact stature, complexion, and head circumference required for each model, warning that a failure to adhere to these rules renders the wearer a caricature rather than a gentleman.

Beyond the aesthetics of style, the text transitions into a technical exposition of hat construction. This section demystifies the "first" and "second" processes, detailing the use of specialized tools like the bow and the battery. The author explains the chemical interplay of vitriol and beer dregs used to shrink and felt the materials, as well as the necessity of patience in allowing a hat to "season." This clinical precision is punctuated by the author's disdain for those who attempt to create beaver hats from inferior materials, such as lap-dog fur.

The final arc of the work shifts toward the sociology of the trade. The author pulls back the curtain on the "Laws and Customs of Journeymen Hatters," an elaborate, quasi-legal system governing apprenticeships and shop-floor conduct. He outlines the hierarchy of "fair" and "foul" men, the internal courts of "Dozening," and the frequent labor disputes that characterize the workshops. The author does not shy away from the contradictions of these unions, acknowledging that while they maintain the quality of the product, they also foster a culture of idleness and excessive drink.

The book concludes with a return to the practical, offering a final, sharp warning against the common "slovenly" practice of wearing one's hat on the back of the head. He provides a list of his own "Fashionable Hats," ranging from the "John Bull" to the "Irresistible," and closes with a brief, humorous plea for mercy from any reader who might be tempted to judge his work by the letter rather than the spirit. It is a complete cycle: from the philosophy of appearance to the raw science of the workshop, and finally, to the social structures that sustain the trade.

How It Unfolds

The rejection of artifice The author sets a brisk tone by discarding the traditional preface, arguing that if a work cannot stand on its own merits, it is not worth the effort of reading. He establishes a voice of unapologetic expertise, positioning himself as a man who values utility over empty pageantry.

The taxonomy of headwear A systematic examination of various hat styles follows, linking each to specific physical requirements like height, build, and facial features. These entries serve as a social guide, advising on how to achieve a "gentlemanly" appearance while avoiding the pitfalls of ill-fitting shapes.

The science of the craft The narrative delves into the specific technical processes of hat-making, describing the use of the bow, the battery, and the chemical treatments required to produce a durable felt. This section provides an unvarnished look at the labor-intensive reality behind the finished, polished product.

The culture of the workshop The focus shifts to the insular world of the journeyman hatter, detailing a complex, rigid system of internal laws and punishments. The author highlights the tension between maintaining trade standards and the reality of the frequent, often alcohol-fueled, squabbles among the men.

The final admonition The book rounds off by addressing the common mistakes made by the public in wearing hats, particularly the "slovenly" habit of pushing them to the back of the head. It ends with a definitive list of the author’s own styles and a brief, playful conclusion that underscores the author’s commitment to his craft.

The People

The book is populated by a cast of archetypes, though the most prominent figure is the author himself, "R. L." He is an uncompromising observer who views his trade as a serious, almost moral enterprise. He stands in opposition to the "foul" men—the "Knobsticks"—who have not served their proper seven-year apprenticeships. To the author, these men are not merely unskilled; they represent a degradation of a noble craft.

Then there are the customers: the "Princes, Peers, and Plenipotentiaries" who seek to use the "Jolliffe" to project an aura of importance, and the "elderly gentlemen in pursuit of young wives" who believe the shape of their hat will secure their romantic fortunes. These characters are defined by their vanity and their reliance on external symbols to compensate for perceived shortcomings. Finally, the "journeyman hatter" emerges as a collective character—a group governed by the "High Court of Congress" and the influence of "Sir John Barleycorn." They are caught between their own stringent, self-imposed laws and the pressure to produce quality work in a changing market. Each person, whether a master or an apprentice, is essentially defined by their relationship to the hat: either as a creator who understands its "stamina" or a consumer who hopes to wear it as a mask of "reality."

In Its Own Voice

Regarding the tendency of some men to seek fame through trivialities, the author reflects on the nature of legacy:

As well may it be said, a thousand years hence, that LLOYD was a great Hatmaker, and lived in a great City.

On the absurdity of using improper materials for fine headwear, he recounts an experience with a misguided customer:

Nay, I remember once offending a very good customer, and a man not wanting for sense either, by an involuntary burst of laughter, on his presenting the skin of a French lap-dog for the very same purpose.

Regarding the social necessity of appearance, he argues:

Nay, are there not situations in life where appearances become so vitally important that it would be little short of criminality not to put them on?

What It's Really About

At its core, the book explores the intersection of social performance and material reality. The author argues that a hat is not merely an accessory; it is a tool of influence. Through the rigid classification of shapes, he suggests that human character is something that can be framed, if not improved, by the correct choice of attire. Underlying this is a deeper question of what constitutes "authenticity"—the author constantly struggles with the tension between the "appearance" of a gentleman and the "reality" of the man beneath the brim. It is an argument for the dignity of labor, asserting that true elegance is the result of a sound, well-crafted foundation.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in Regency social history or the minutiae of 19th-century trade practices will find this book an invaluable, if eccentric, primary source. It captures the specific anxieties of a time when the slightest deviation in a brim’s curve could signal a man’s political alignment or his social standing. The writing is sharp, opinionated, and refreshingly direct; the author’s disdain for "duns" and his vivid descriptions of "Dozening" sessions at the local pub provide a visceral sense of the era’s working-class life.

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the book's intense focus on obsolete styles and the author’s occasionally rigid, class-conscious perspective on what makes a man "proper." The technical jargon regarding felt-making and the internal politics of the hatting trade can feel dense, and the author’s tone often shifts from pedagogical to combative. Yet, it is exactly this friction that makes the book memorable. It stays with you not because it is a polished historical overview, but because it feels like a living, breathing artifact—a direct, unfiltered dispatch from a London workshop floor in 1819, written by a man who genuinely believes that the fate of the world might just hinge on the correct set of a hat.