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Tuesday , December 14, 2010
Random Picture Entry: Two Examples of the Ratty Fur Coat in action
I'm really baffled as to how I'm sitting here writing a post about how I think wearing a fur coat is a cool thing to do considering how I actually think that wearing a fur coat is the lamest thing a human being can possibly do (besides download New Soul by Yael Naim, which I have recently decided is the worst song ever, and this time I MEAN IT!!)
So first things first: HERE is a link to PETA's Fur is Dead website, which explains everything about why wearing real fur is an incredibly disgusting thing to do, which it is. Seriously. It's so gross and unnecessary. Ew! EW! SICK!!!!!
That being said, I was born blessed with the innate ability to unconditionally love everything John Lennon ever did, including wear a real fur coat. For me, the peak of John Lennon's accidental sub-career as Style Icon (in case you were wondering, I totally championed him for our Style Icons series, but FOR SOME REASON was SHOT DOWN) was White Album through Let It Be-era Beatles, when he basically just looked like nasty crap every single day for two years straight. But then again, I would do the exact same thing if I were a genius at the peak of my genius immersed in a really intense love-fest with a sexy-as-shit Japanese conceptual artist.
I particularly adore John's commitment to what I recently learned is colloquially referred to as the "Texas tuxedo," which means "head-to-toe denim." So ugly! And then there was his infamous talisman necklace: it has been one of my life's goals for a while now to buy his actual talisman necklace, but I found out this company Beatle Suits makes knock-offs of it, which will probably get the job done in the meantime. But the apex of John's slacker-to-the-max aesthetic is totally his grotty, gnarly, bedraggled and evidently unlaundered brown fur coat, which he wore most notoriously during the Beatles' final rooftop concert, as seen here:
I have always responded to the silhouette of this coat- the shoulders are really perfect, and I just love the bigness of it, how it overwhelms everything else he's wearing, which is convenient for him because whatever else he's wearing is either boring or nast.
I'm really happy they invented faux-fur, because it allows me to reference this timeless look without having to deal with being immensely creeped out by the fact that the pelt of a dead mink is touching the bare skin of my wrists. This faux-fur bomber was the first item of clothing I ever bought when I moved to New York City at eighteen; it was thirty bucks at Beacon's Closet, beyond a good investment. I've worn this jacket for every day of the past five winters. The coat's inner lining is completely ripped up, so every time I take it off or put it on I have to do this annoying little idiosyncratic shimmy where I adjust it to the contours of my body. I always feel a bit embarrassed when I meet new people while wearing this jacket because it's so gross. Over the course of our relationship, I have spilled pretty much every possible substance upon it- beer, soy sauce, ketchup, diet Coke, human saliva, animal saliva- oh, whatever. Use your imagination. It is also reeks of every single cigarette I've ever smoked while wearing it, but I think it would probably depress and/or shame me to try and come up with an approximate statistic in this case.
But who cares? It looks bad-ass, reminds me of John Lennon, and I would venture to guess that I feel "sexier" in it than I do in anything else I've ever worn.
And for one last time, I must reiterate the fact that FUR IS MURDER and that you should NEVER, EVER wear it- unless it's fake, or you're John Lennon.
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