Loathsome are the thoughts that desperately fled through and sped right past my mind as I began to dwell over the intentions I had to wear a fur coat. And no, I do not mean those silky soft, but most times rigid and ready-to-shock-the-living-out-of-you, faux fur coats I have been eager to buy every time I pass through Bloomingdale’s. As I stepped into my mother’s walk-in closet last Friday night I could feel the hypothermic air whispering in my ear all the happiness; the joy; and all the basic bitchness this warm furry— once very much alive— creature would bring me. All I needed to do was glide those chunky little arms through those two embracing holes and let that warm fitted vest entwine and snuggle the hell out of my upper bod.
I once watched a graphic and oh so bloody short film of how animals were slaughtered. I stopped eating meat for 3 years until I found out my grandmother was sneaking in minuscule pieces of meat into my food while I was living with her. A little later in life I realized how much happiness and deliciousness I was refraining my body from.
When I was just a chubby cheeked girl looking to find some treasure, my older sister and I spotted a chest full of moth balls, scarves, boxes full of silky cinderella gloves, and piles and piles of gigantic fur coats. I pathetically asked my grandmother what they were and she said, “something I’ll get once I’m older” as my sister whispered in my ear, and I quote, “she murdered all the bunnies in the world and skinned them herself!”…And I almost forgot to mention the night before I was told my bunny had “gone on vacation”.
I said, “HELL TO THE FUCK NO”. But you know, without all the sass and with waterfalls of tears running down my face as I ran away in fear.
You could say I was mentally prepared to frown upon all those fur wearers and the fur enthusiasts for a few years now. This of course would include my mother, Muti (my grandmother), and especially that satanic sister of mine.
As the night got darker and the weather fell way below the 50s (which is approximately the degree that determines whether Florida officially turns into Antarctica or not) all I could think of was Phoebe, yes Phoebe Buffey. She is an animal lover and a vegetarian but even she makes mistakes. She fell in love with a fur coat. Even if it was for only one 30-minute episode; I bet she warm and in love and the happiest woman alive.
So I pulled and Phoebe and yeah, I wore it; I wore the hell of that basic bitchin’ vest. And yes, it made me feel totally basic and bitchin’ as fuck but I don’t think I’ll do it again.
Not because I feel too much guilt for fur but mostly because I refuse to fall into the peer pressure of the three most evil, yet wholehearted women in my life.