I went to a wedding at the weekend – which is no news story in itself given that I go to weddings almost every weekend right now – and an unusual thing happened.

After the sweltering few weeks we've had, I decided (for the sake of my already sun-reddened nose) to wear a hat to this wedding. if there's anywhere you can style out a wide brim, it's at a wedding, I thought. But at this one –a perfectly choreographed, well to do affair in a nice part of the country – I was the only person wearing a hat. The only one. Even the fascinators were in short supply: I counted two.

What's going on?

Ever since the Andi MacDowell moment in Four Weddings, I've longed to swish through a church door in some headgear as wide as the font itself. So I did, last weekend.

It was a beautiful glossy, black, straw number by Piers Atkinson, its wide brim a gentle dome, held in place by a comb and swooping across my slightly-in-need-of-help profile with all the elegance and grace of a New Look-era pagoda line. It was the sort of hat that begged the wearer to incline their head with Lady Di gentility; it convinced me I had a swan-like neck, regardless of whether that was the truth or not.

I've never worn a 'proper' hat before, and everything about this one was proper. It was entrée to a world of sophistication that I thoroughly enjoyed. Rather than decoration, it felt like an integral part of my outfit. When I took it off for dinner, it was as if I'd kicked my shoes off, or washed all my make-up off.

I loved it. And so did everyone else. Far from being, as I so often worry with hats that don't keep your ears warm, a cry for attention or a show-piece intended to break the ice and start conversations, this was a hat that felt completely easy to wear, despite its two-foot diameter. Everybody had a ready compliment for it.

Which is why it seemed such a shame that nobody else had taken advantage of the occasion and worn one themselves. Milliners such as Stephen Jones and Philip Treacy, as well as Piers Atkinson, the creator of the one I wore, have their work out for them in persuading people back. But, slowly slowly. The fact of Ascot provides an annual excuse, and Jones is of the opinion that our current bare-headed vogue is an historical anomaly. We'll all be back in hats in the future, he says. Whether those hats take the form of dystopian smog-busting oxygen tents is another matter, of course.

Still, it's a sad state of affairs that hats no longer feel like part of the uniform at a wedding. I appreciate they don't necessarily feel like the right piece to invest in sometimes, in terms of cost-per-wear, but there's always the option to hire. And if you're buying, and you make the right choice (see our top ten tips if you're unsure)  – whether that's to do with colour scheme, practicality or simply buying one that makes your heart sing – you'll have that hat forever. It isn't about trends. And one day, you'll be wearing it to the weddings of relatives double your height but a fraction of your age.

'Look at that fabulous old lady in the hat,' they'll be saying. 'They don't make them like that any more.'