Meet Katrina.

My father came to Georgia from the Philippines with little more than two suitcases, a remarkable work ethic, and an ability to make things with his hands. An educator, craftsman, builder, and perpetual tinkerer, he could look at a problem and see the solution. I grew up watching him build, repair, invent, and — most importantly — figure things out. Somewhere along the way, I inherited that same stubborn curiosity.

My mother gave me a different kind of inheritance: a love for things with a past. She adored antiques and regularly took me along to antique shops, where my standing instruction was to keep my hands behind my back and not touch anything. But there were exceptions — or at least, I found them. The little veiled hats, kid gloves, beaded purses and beautifully made dresses couldn’t shatter in my hands, so those were the treasures I was allowed to explore. What began as a childhood loophole became a lifelong fascination with the romance and craftsmanship of another time.

Even my mother’s antique iron bed, bought for her by her father when she was a teenager, eventually was passed down to me. We still have it today. I learned early that beautiful things weren’t necessarily meant to be used up and replaced. They could be cared for, handed down, and become part of a family’s story.

I grew up enchanted by beautiful things from another time — vintage hats with delicate veils, gloves, jewelry, structured handbags, and beautifully made dresses and shoes. I loved objects that carried evidence of the hands that made them, and the lives lived in them. I still treasure my grandmother’s alligator pumps and matching clutch, bought for her by my grandfather when they were newly married.

A craft finds its maker.

What began with a hat for the Kentucky Derby became an obsession with the centuries-old craft behind it. I wanted to understand not simply how a hat looked, but how it was made — how straw could be persuaded over a block, how wire could create an almost invisible architecture, and how proportion, movement, texture, and trim could completely change the person wearing it.

That curiosity grew into a study of traditional and modern millinery techniques under the guidance of a master milliner. My education has continued ever since through study with milliners from around the world, specialized courses, hands-on workshops, and plenty of experimentation at my own worktable.

And then millinery gave me something I hadn’t expected: a connection home. As I learned the materials of the trade, I discovered that several I loved most — sinamay, abaca and buntal — have deep roots in the Philippines. These beautifully woven natural fibers had traveled from the country of my father’s birth into a craft I had somehow found for myself.

For me, that connection felt anything but accidental.

Made to be remembered.

Today, Kat In A Hat brings all of those threads together: old-world craftsmanship and modern expression; Filipino heritage and Southern roots; romance and irreverence; elegance and just enough mischief.

I incorporate vintage jewelry, textiles and unexpected treasures because objects with a past can be given another story.

A hat should reveal something about the person underneath it. It can be elegant, daring, romantic, restrained, eccentric — or beautifully untamed. But above all, it should feel unmistakably yours.

Not costume. Not trend-driven. Timeless — with a wink.

You’re the Kat’s Meow.