The Humble Cart: Britain’s Unsung Hairpin

I used to walk right past the plain wire hairpin at antique stalls. The cart, as British milliners and hairdressers called it, looked like nothing—a straight or slightly curved piece of metal, sometimes tipped with a glass bead or a tiny enamel flower. Next to the tortoiseshell combs and silk-ribbon bows in my display case, it seemed almost invisible. Then, at a small antiques market in Whitby, an elderly dealer showed me a Victorian mourning hairpin still threaded with a lock of its owner’s hair. That changed everything. The cart is not a background player. It is the quiet backbone of British hair fashion, a piece of engineering that has outlasted every trend.

What Exactly Is a Cart?

The term cart (sometimes spelled kart in early trade catalogues) refers to a single-pronged hairpin, usually made from metal, that holds a hairstyle by being inserted horizontally or diagonally into the hair. Unlike the U-shaped hairpin (often called a bobby pin after its 1920s patent), the cart is straight or has a gentle curve and does not rely on tension between two prongs. Instead, it secures by friction along its entire length, often helped by a slight twist or a textured surface. The word itself is believed to derive from the French carte (a playing card), because early 19th-century French hairdressers would slide these pins between sections of hair as neatly as a card dealer would slip a card from a deck.

In Britain, the cart reached its peak popularity between the 1870s and the 1930s, when it was manufactured in astonishing variety. Birmingham, Sheffield, and London housed workshops that stamped, turned, and hand-finished millions of these pins each year. They were sold by the dozen in small cardboard boxes lined with tissue paper—a format so beloved that collectors still hunt for intact boxes with original labels.

Materials and Techniques: From Steel to Celluloid

The most common carts were made of blued steel—a carbon steel that was heated and then treated with steam to create a thin, rust-resistant oxide layer with a deep blue-black colour. These are the pins you will find at almost any vintage fair in the UK, often with a slight patina that collectors prize. Better-quality examples were silver-plated or made from solid silver, sometimes hallmarked with a tiny lion passant that dates them precisely. For evening wear, Edwardian ladies chose carts with heads of carved jet (a fossilised wood popular in Whitby jewellery), mother-of-pearl, or early plastics like vulcanite and celluloid.

One technique that British manufacturers perfected was the swaged cart—a pin with a flattened, slightly widened head that could be stamped with a decorative pattern or a monogram. Swaging allowed the pin to sit flush against the hair without snagging, and it gave the maker a small canvas for artistry. A swaged cart from the 1880s might carry a tiny engraved fern or a geometric Art Nouveau motif; by the 1920s, the same technique produced geometric Art Deco chevrons and zigzags. These details are often invisible when the pin is worn, which makes finding a well-preserved example feel like discovering a secret signature.

The Cart in British Silhouette: 1900–1950

To understand why the cart mattered, you have to picture the hairstyles it was made to support. The Edwardian pompadour—a towering mass of hair swept upward from the forehead—required dozens of carts to hold its shape. A single pompadour could use between twenty and forty pins, each inserted at a slightly different angle to create a hidden scaffolding. Hairdressers of the era were trained to work with carts in a specific sequence: first the long, heavy pins to secure the foundation rolls, then the shorter, finer pins to smooth the surface and tuck away stray wisps.

During the 1920s, when bobbed hair became fashionable, the cart adapted rather than disappeared. Shorter hairstyles needed fewer pins, but they demanded a more precise hold. British manufacturers responded with the invisible cart—a very fine, barely-there pin made of silver or white metal that could secure a Marcel wave without reflecting light. These are among the most difficult carts to find today because they were so thin that they bent easily and were often thrown away. A complete set of six invisible carts in their original packet is a serious find for any collector.

The 1940s brought a resurgence of the cart as a practical tool for women working in factories and farms during the war. Utility regulations limited metal use, but the humble cart was deemed essential, and production continued under strict quotas. Many wartime carts were unadorned—just a simple steel pin with a flat head—but their very simplicity makes them a poignant record of the era. I own a single wartime cart that still carries a faint trace of red paint on its head; I like to imagine it was used to hold a victory-roll hairstyle for a dance at the local village hall.

How to Spot a Quality Cart

Not all carts are created equal, and knowing what to look for will save you from buying a modern reproducer’s work. Here are the key details I check when I am at a market or a car boot sale:

• The point: A genuine vintage cart has a rounded, not sharp, tip. The pin was meant to slide between hair strands without piercing the scalp. If the tip is needle-sharp, it is almost certainly a modern hair pin made for fashion wigs, not for human hair.
• The finish: Look for the blue-black patina of blued steel, or the soft grey of tarnished silver. Modern steel pins are often shiny and chrome-plated, which vintage carts never were. A cart with an intact silver hallmark is a treasure, but even without one, the colour and feel of the metal are reliable indicators.
• The head: Victorian and Edwardian carts often have heads that are slightly asymmetrical because they were hand-stamped. If the pattern on the head is perfectly centred and machine-perfect, the pin may be a 20th-century reproduction or a later revival piece. A little wobble in the design is a good sign.
• The length: Standard Edwardian carts range from 4 to 6 inches (10–15 cm). Shorter pins (2–3 inches) are usually from the 1920s or later. If you find a cart over 7 inches long, it was likely used for bridal or theatrical hairstyles and is quite rare.

Wearing Carts Today: Practical Tips

One of the most rewarding aspects of collecting vintage carts is that they are still perfectly functional. Unlike some fragile combs or delicate slides, a well-made steel cart can hold a modern updo just as securely as it did a century ago. Here is how I incorporate them into my everyday wardrobe:

• Low chignon with a single cart: Twist your hair into a low bun at the nape of the neck, then insert a single long Edwardian cart horizontally from one side to the other. The pin will be almost invisible, but the weight and texture of the old steel give the bun a satisfying solidity that modern plastic pins cannot match.
• Side-swept waves: For a 1940s-inspired look, create deep side waves with a curling iron, then secure each wave with a short 1920s invisible cart. The pins will disappear into the hair, leaving only the wave pattern visible. This technique works especially well with a silk scarf tied as a headband.
• Mixed metals: Do not be afraid to combine silver carts with gold-toned modern accessories. The contrast between the tarnished silver and a bright gold barrette is unexpected and very chic. I often wear a pair of silver Edwardian carts crossed like an X above a modern tortoiseshell claw clip.

For those new to wearing vintage hair accessories, I recommend starting with a single cart in a simple bun. It requires no special skill—just push the pin in until it feels secure—and it gives you an immediate connection to the women who used these same objects a hundred years ago. If you find that your cart slips out during the day, a small tweak can make all the difference; I have written a detailed guide on how to keep vintage hair combs from slipping that applies equally well to carts, especially the advice about using a tiny dab of beeswax on the pin.

Where to Find Carts Worth Collecting

The best hunting grounds for quality carts are small antiques centres in market towns, especially in the Midlands and Yorkshire where the pin industry was concentrated. I have had excellent luck at the weekly flea market in Newark-on-Trent and at the indoor antiques arcade in Bakewell. Charity shops in affluent areas occasionally yield a box of silver carts donated as part of an estate clearance; the key is to look in the jewellery case, not the hair accessories section, because staff often mislabel them as “old earrings” or “miscellaneous metal items.”

Online auctions are another reliable source, but you need to search with the right terms. Try “antique hair pin,” “Edwardian hair pin,” “silver hair pin,” and “blued steel hair pin.” Avoid the term “vintage bobby pin” unless you want to wade through hundreds of modern examples. I also keep an eye on where to stay when you collect vintage hair accessories for practical advice on planning trips around auction dates and market days.

Caring for Your Carts

Steel carts are surprisingly robust, but they do require a little attention to prevent rust. After each wear, wipe the pin with a soft, dry cloth to remove any oils from your hair. If you live in a humid climate or plan to store your collection for a long time, wrap each cart in acid-free tissue paper and place it in a box with a small silica gel packet. Do not use silver polish on blued steel—it will strip the protective oxide layer and leave you with a bare, grey pin. Instead, if you want to clean a tarnished silver cart, use a gentle silver cloth and avoid getting the polish on any steel parts.

For carts with decorative heads made of jet, mother-of-pearl, or early plastic, avoid soaking them in water. A gentle wipe with a barely damp cotton bud is enough to remove dust. Celluloid is especially sensitive to heat and can warp if left in direct sunlight or near a radiator; I keep my celluloid-headed carts in a drawer lined with velvet, away from the window.

The quiet resilience of the cart mirrors the quiet resilience of the women who wore them. These pins held up pompadours through long afternoons of calling cards and tea, secured victory rolls through blackouts and air-raid sirens, and anchored bobs through smoky jazz clubs and the first rumblings of rock and roll. They were never meant to be noticed—and that, I have come to believe, is exactly why they deserve to be remembered.