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CELEBRATING CREATIVE EXPRESSION AT BAYLOR SINCE 1966

Periaktoi Writing Post

Volume 53
Issue 2

Single Visual Art Post

  • Essay
I Believe In My White Fur Coat
Bryn Adair

February 2018, when I found out that I would visit New York City for my school ’s winter break. It’d been a staggering eight years since I last visited this metropolis consisting of grey skies, slushy streets, blinding city lights, and some of the finest places on this earth. My father sent me a text alerting me of the impending horrendous weather waiting to strike down as soon as we land. He wrote, “Pack appropriately.” I quickly responded, “Fashion is never appropriate” while looking through a coat closet. Not just any coat closet, but my mother’s.

My eyes immediately fixated on the floor-length, white mink fur coat. I snagged the garment bag off the metal rod, ran upstairs, and threw the coat into my suitcase. I chose this coat because Dave, my father, had told me we would go shopping at Bergdorf’s. I yanked up the gold hardware adorning my luggage and whisked my bags away to downstairs.

The day had arrived, when I had unzipped that garment bag and threw the illustrious fur coat over my shoulders. The absolute perfect addition to my black python outfit. My father looked me dead in the eyes and told me, ”no.” He tried to blame it on the rain, albeit the skies were grey, but there was absolutely no precipitation, and I didn’t plan on some water stopping me. I knew what he really thought and why he did not want me to wear the coat. It was odd, embarrassing to both him and me. But what others thought of me did not affect my decision as I hopped out of the black sedan and entered Ladurèe for a pre-shopping snack.

The lady packing my delectable macarons into the pastel box stared at me in awe and exclaimed, “I love your outfit, especially that fur coat.” I thanked her graciously and gave a smirk at my father, igniting my internal flame to prove to him, that in fact this coat was meant to be worn by me. I headed off to Bergdorf’s and entered those gleaming glass doors shining like God’s halo. My suede shoes pounced on the Italian marble floor as the stereotypical department store fragrance lady shrieked, “I adore that coat, have you tried the new Kilian fragrance?” I politely declined and entered the elevator arriving at the couture floor— and in that very elevator I received three compliments on the mink pelt draping across my shoulders.

That coat that adorned my lanky arms, the coat that both my parents protested me to wear, was the thing that brought me the most confidence on that day. Though I was told and asked multiple times to not wear this beautiful creation, I did. I believed in who I was with this coat on, and I ended up being praised for who I am by strangers in a strange city. I was authentically me and did not let others affect that and to force me to be someone who I am not. I am myself, I can’t help that, and that is why I embraced the people who doubted me and took on the shiver-inducing city in my white fur coat.