ME & MY MOM'S MINK
Nobody thinks about fur in L.A. But being away from the glorious warm weather and thrown right into the German winter of my homeland, a seemingly prickly topic I hadn’t thought of popped up: Can you in this day and age openly wear fur without guilt and being shamed as a cruel, unethical bitch? Not an entirely absurd question, indeed. But here’s the thing: The coat in question is my Mom’s Mink, a 45 year old elegant beauty (just like my Mom herself was) which she bestowed on me when she died in 2010. I’m not really fond of mink, the status symbol of bourgeoise well-heeledness I so detested as a rather radical 60s chick. Mink meant gloves, pearls, scarves and crocodile bags, it was even a star in a Doris-Day-Movie called ”That Touch of Mink”. And I would have never bought a new anything made of real fur, and never have. I despise designers who show still fur in their collections and hope they get booed on the runway and are visited in their dreams by slaughtered animals. I adore animals, don’t eat them and only kill insects that bite me.
So, yes, I did have a bit of a conflict when I ogled Mom’s Mink yet another year without wearing it outside. I had tried it on several times in front of the mirror, like a child slipping on something luxurious, grown-up and forbidden, something that smelled of French perfume (which it still does – Guerlain or Rochas); I had caressed the lustrous wide sleeves, felt warm and protected and had thought of my Mom who I missed so much that it hurt. Then I made a decision. It’s cold, I’m going to wear that damn mink because I own it and can do whatever I want. Some of my friends had warned me of overzealous PETA fans who might attack me with either sharp criticism or a spray can. But I’m a feisty feminist and can take controversy and a touch of public anger.
So, a few days ago I tested the waters in the environment that combines the worst and the best of human behaviour: Public transportation. I threw on my elegant mink, counteracting the ladylike look with old ripped jeans and platform booties - and took the Metro. In case of unpleasant encounters I had two retorts for nasty nitpickers ready to go. One was true, “These animals are already dead for 50 years, bug off!” The other one was a huffy, “Jeez, this is a fake fur, isn’t that obvious?” But all I got were some dirty looks from two young women. I was safe for the moment.
Does wearing a real fur coat signal consent for killing cute furry animals for fashion - even if they are only rabbits and the garment is really old? Animals – wild and domestic ones - have not always been our beloved friends and pets that needed special protection. Everything was once allowed in the name of fashion, short of rats. Racoon, beaver, badger, rabbit, Persian lamb, leopard, fox, mouton, calf, bear, minx, ferret, chinchilla in any shape or form decorated women, men, even children… The fancy furs looked especially chic in old 30s and 40s movies when worn by Marlene Dietrich and Joan Crawford. Or by me in the 70s.
Yep. I must admit that I’m guilty of having worn a beautiful boxy red fox coat and a show-stopping mouton from a flea market when cheap vintage furs were all the rage. And why not, they were there already, why not putting them to use! Those days are over. By now, all those 80 year old furs have probably fallen apart, a heap of dead animals, brittle and slightly smelly. It’s good they’re gone. We don’t need new ones. We have a different awareness of and appreciation for all the wonderful animals that grace our lives and lands. And PETA rocks!
As for me, I just wanted to be close to my Mom, cuddled up in her mink. Actually, I think I wanted to be her, now having become the older woman myself.
I wanted to sell the coat a few times but nobody is all that interested in old-fashioned minks. So I’ll keep it for the time being as Mom’s Mink, a talisman, a magical memory on a hanger.
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