
Just last year, I had an encounter with a fur coat that left me both aghast and amazed. At Chicago’s Modern Vintage Fashion event, there was an entire booth dedicated to fur. Now — indulge me for a second. I’m from the islands. Furs are not a part of the wardrobe in such climates. So visiting colder climes and now living in Chicago, has been quite the eye-opener. Because downtown, honey there are some women strutting their stuff in fur. And I can’t deny my fascination with it.
Fur is so soft. It’s so glam. It’s so over-the-top and decadent. There’s a part of me that loves the look of fur, particularly in moderation (head-to-toe fur is crazy tacky, IMO). But an even bigger part of me can only see the cruelty, the blood, the senseless murder of it all.
Before I get into all of that, back to Modern Vintage Chicago.
This particular booth was dripping in fur. All colors, all kinds. Fox and mink and chinchilla and rabbit, as well as more exotic-looking varieties. I walked around touching all of it. And then I came face to face with a fox stole. Complete with a pointy little nose, heartbreaking eye sockets, and little paws with pads and claws that reminded me so much of Max, my cat’s. It made me shudder. I just had to get out of that booth ASAP.
After being spooked by the stole, I had to SMH at myself. Because I eat meat. And I’ve been ardently seeking a leather jacket, because everything I’ve seen that’s pleather in plus size looks really cheap and fake. And I have a thing for suede. I realize that I am a total hypocrite.
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