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HEADS TURN.
Eyes pop.
Jaws drop.
The poshly appareled women attract attention wherever they go.
Maybe it's their passionate purple outfits.
Or their flaming red hats festooned with feathers and bows.
Or their confident high-heeled stride as they strut down the sidewalk.
These ladies have earned the right to be outrageous.
Age has everything to do with it.
"We can do anything we damned well please," Diane Snead tells friends gathered downtown for shopping and dinner at Claiborne's restaurant.
Such is the mantra of the Red Hat Society. Females fifty-something and beyond are flocking to this senior sisterhood like celebrity wannabes to an American Idol competition.
The society has 8,000 chapters nationally and in 12 foreign countries. Between 150,000 to 200,000 consider themselves Red Hatters.
They are wives, mothers and grandmothers who've carpooled their children, carted them to college and wept at their weddings. They've toasted anniversaries, divorced or buried one or more husbands.
They've organized meals at home and meetings at work. They are teachers, supervisors and secretaries. Some have retired, others still dream of it.
But they're not about to rock away their golden years on the front porch. They're flaunting fun and thumbing their noses at anyone who stands in their way.
The more outlandish the better.
On a recent springlike afternoon, this procession of eight strolls down sidewalks and slips in shops that pique their curiosity.
Snead is the youngest of the group at 51, impeccably dressed in a cardinal-color blazer that clashes with her royal purple knit dress. A red-feathered boa bands her wide-brimmed hat and streams down her back.
"People at work couldn't believe I was going out looking like this," Snead says.
"Oh, they must be young," Nancy Ballenger scoffs.
She is an older member at 69, dressed in purple except for her red cloche embellished with a shimmery band and fluffy ostrich tuft.
She spies a red-striped sequined purse in the Pavilion gift shop and flashes it for Barbara Walor to see.
"You have to get this," Ballenger insists. "It will be perfect for the convention."
Walor studies the boxy handbag then frowns at the $69 price tag.
"Oh, all right," she says, scooping it up along with a "Queen of the Court" nightshirt then heading for the sales desk.
Walor is founder and Queen Mother of the 17-member Fredericksburg club known as the Scarlet Chapeaus. Half a dozen Red Hat Society chapters have sprung up here in a year. They have similarly whimsical names--LOCO Goddesses, The Fun Bunch, The Lovelies, The Virginia Sweet-Teas and the Red Hat Ladies of Summerlake.
The "disorganization," as founder Sue Ellen Cooper refers to it on the Web site, redhatsociety .com, began three years ago after friends started meeting for tea.
They wore red hats and purple dresses, inspired by a Jenny Joseph poem that begins, "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple with a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me"
Last year, 400 Red Hatters joined in Chicago for the first national convention. Next month, 2,000 or more are expected in Nashville.
This sorority professes no agenda, and no lofty purpose or closely guarded handshake.
Red Hatters need only follow the expected dress code when they get together. Women under 50 can join, but must wear pink hats and lavender attire until "The Birthday."
Walor, who is 64, is making a purple off-shoulder gown for the convention. Boyd, 65, plans to don a bird cage with live birds.
"I'm still trying to figure out how I would get live birds on the plane," she giggles.
Several work in the same office at the Naval Surface Warfare Center. A few have retired. One Red Hatter, Ro Sanford, has been deployed to Bahrain with the Navy Reserves.
The Scarlet Chapeaus have only one criterion.
"We don't want any old poops," Walor says. "We may be old but we still want to have fun."
Their playful antics infect everyone around them.
"We're lovin' the red hats," says Megan Strange, who sips a beer at a table outside of Sammy T's restaurant on Caroline Street. Her mother, Marian, who was visiting from Connecticut, asks what the group is all about.
"Absolutely nothing," Boyd deadpans. She shares a bit of history about Red Hatters.
"It's such an un-me thing to do," Marian Strange says. "I should do it."
The Red Hatters cut across the street at a green light. Several stretch their arms in traffic cop motion to slow an approaching car. The driver honks his horn and waves.
Inside Alexandra's Attic, owner Alexandra Goodman snaps a picture while the women browse. They spot a red-feathered boa and take turns trying it in dramatic pose. Snead flings it around her shoulders then searches for a mirror.
"It molts," she teases. "So does my hat."
She buys the boa. Walor snags a black-and-purple Mardi Gras mask with a peacock feather center and red sequined eyes. Boyd finds red waxed lips to match her fiery felt tam.
"Wouldn't this be perfect for the convention?" Boyd says. "They'll say, 'Who are those hot-lipped girls from Virginia?'"
They stroll to Claiborne's by the train station and take a seat at a large, round table in the main dining room.
"Are we drinking?" Boyd asks over conversation that already is abuzz.
"I feel like dancing," she says, waving her hands in the air.
Over Merlot, Absolut and iced tea before filet and tuna entrees, they recount a recent trip to a Culpeper tea room and chat about an upcoming one to Stratford Hall where they'll play croquet in vintage Victorian garb with other Red Hatters.
Last fall, they traveled to a health spa in Williamsburg and sipped tea at the Ritz Carlton in Washington. When the train stopped at Union Station, the conductor announced over the loud speaker: "The Red Hat ladies have arrived."
They're already planning for a December bus trip--maybe with husbands.
Kathy Adams, 54, ponders how they will be received in the Big Apple: "I wonder if New York will notice us."