In the winter, Berlin streets are notoriously grim; the eye savors any bright spot—a child’s mittens, a circus ad. But at the top of Rosa Luxemburg Strasse stands an oasis of color: local milliner Rike Feurstein’s eponymous boutique, a veritable confectionery of candy-hued hats. Inside, one tries them on like identities: A leopard-print cloche à la Marion Davies, a violet felt fedora–cocked over one eye, of course–a modern-day Dietrich. To cold-reddened ears, the soft wool hats whisper most enticingly. A vermillion shapka says “Russian oligarch’s wife.”  A lime-green rasta cap–paired, perhaps, with a rainbow-striped parabola of a scarf–“ingénue.” Eventually, the modiste herself emerges from her adjacent workshop to assist in the selection, and an ingenious knit visor in petrol blue is wrapped in tissue and dispatched into the cityscape. (Megan O’Grady)