Further Proof that Crime is Cool

Zooey Deschanel, I like the cut of your jib. Let's be friends.

PS - I'd like to borrow your headband. Because that's what friends do.

PPS - Also that dress, the sweater, those shoes...pretty much your whole wardrobe. Not to mention your joie de vivre and your je ne sais quoi. Hand 'em over. I'll owe ya one, friend.

Furgly

During my morning commute today, I beheld two of the ugliest fur coats I have ever seen. Not an uncommon sight on the streets of Manhattan - the fur coat - often sported by Park Avenue-dwelling women of a certain age. Slightly less common to see such coats beneath the streets of Manhattan; furs (and their owners) don't usually ride the subway. The two I saw today, however, certainly deserve to be underground. Like, in a landfill perhaps.

The first was spotted walking through the Union Square subway station. It was a short, swingy coat, made of snow-white fur. At the bottom of the coat, it looked like a dozen or so gerbils had burrowed into the hemline at four-inch intervals, leaving just their backs exposed. This coat also featured a snazzy belt, possibly made of gerbil-fur as well. The entire effect was quite...special.

The second crime against nature was seen a few minutes later on an uptown 6-train. This one was fashioned out of a lusterless medium brown fur, also short, with gigantic shapeless sleeves. The real 'beauty' of this coat was its back, which was adorned with a fur-on-fur diamond patchwork pattern. (I'd say it was almost reminiscent of Native American decor, but I don't want to insult any Native Americans who might be reading this. They've been through enough already, without having their name besmirched by association with this monstrosity.)

While I'm not a PETA-joining, red-paint throwing, "Murder!"-shouting type when it comes to fur coats, I would never want to own one myself. And I would certainly hope that if animals must give their lives to become garments, then they would at least be garments that are in good taste. These two coats were most decidedly not in good taste.

Yet "good taste" is so subjective. Clearly the owners of these horrors must have thought the coats were attractive; they were even willing to shell out a pretty penny to purchase them. And so I wonder who I've horrified with my own subjective tastes, and who has blogged about the eye-sore (aka me) that confronted them on their morning commute?

Oh well. At least I know no gerbils lost their lives on account of my coat.