Saturday, December 18, 2010
Fur Fur Fur Fest
Sometime last year Lauren, Kellie, and I discovered that we had all inherited fur stoles and admitted that we were dying to wear them no matter what sort of wrath we incurred. So for our Christmas gift exchange we dined at the Four Seasons and bravely donned fur. We received a few stares, but I think that had more to do with the fact that we were in Texas (not exactly a climate that demands pelts) and nothing to do with anyone having an issue with our blatant disrespect of minks.
I especially loved our cab driver's reaction to my ensemble. He was one of these Austin cabbies who drives around listening to Alex Jones all day (which may or may not make him crazy depending on your opinion of the Bilderberg Group). We had a spirited discussion about the Trilateral Commission and I agreed with some of the things he had to say.
As I was getting out of the cab he said, "I knew I could trust you, because you're wearing fur."
Well it's time for Fur Fur Fur Fest once again. I'll be making the trip to Austin Sunday and I have already begun mentally engineering my ensemble. I'm bummed because I've been admiring this "Beachland Ballroom" dress from Modcloth for months, but it's out of stock. Wouldn't this look perfect with a brown mink stole?
I'm not really into fashion on a day to day basis, (Kellie spent about twenty minutes trying to convince me not to wear sneakers last Saturday night) but I do love to get dressed up for a fancy occasion now and then.
Last year about this time I was reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, and I happened to come across the most sensual description of fur. Since I'm someone who who keeps things fairly simplistic in the style department I reread this a few times to boost my confidence before our fur filled evening:
What he brought and put over her shoulders was a cape of blue fox that swallowed her from the curve of her chin to the tips of her sandals. "Hank, that's preposterous"-she laughed- "it's not my kind of thing!" "No?" he asked, drawing her to a mirror.
The huge blanket of fur made her look like a child bundled for a snowstorm; the luxurious texture transformed the innocence of the awkward bundle into the elegance of a perversely intentional contrast: into a look of stressed sensuality. The fur was a soft brown, dimmed by an aura of blue that could not be seen, only felt like an enveloping mist, like a suggestion of color grasped not by one's eyes, but by one's hands, as if one felt, without contact, the sensation of sinking one's palms into the fur's softness. The cape left nothing to be seen of her, except the brown of her hair, the blue-gray of her eyes, the shape of her mouth.
She turned to him, her smile startled and helpless, "I . . . I didn't know it would look like that."
Whew! I think I'm gonna go try on my fur.
P.S. The only time fur is absolutely unadvised is if you are a drug lord who is trying to keep a low profile during a professional boxing match.