Of course, as I grew older I realized my error, but I never completely changed my mind. You see...I love fur.
I know. Believe me, I know. I absolutely hate cruelty to animals, and killing a small, furry creature just so you can wear its skin is horrific, evil and ghoulish. It is wrong. Wrong.
But so pretty.
Recently, I was shopping at Saks and found an absolutely gorgeous mink coat. I knew it was wrong - so very, very wrong - but I ran my hands over it and goggled at it. It was a thing of beauty. I looked at the price tag - $8000. I sighed. Dammit. I tried to take it from its hanger to try it on, but it couldn't be moved - I guess they didn't want people stealing it or whatever. Fine.
So instead, I let my imagination do the work. I picture myself strolling along the streets of Paris, in my mink coat, with a matching cap. I'm wearing bright red lipstick and I'm smoking, even though I'm not a smoker, but you smoke when you're walking down the streets of Paris in a fuck-you-you-can't-judge-me-because-I'm-fucking-fantastic-mink-coat. I catch a glimpse of myself in a cafe window and I raise an eyebrow at myself in approval. I sit down at a table in the cafe and order a single glass of chilled white wine, and I sip it while reading some pretentious exiistentialist garbage. I look pensively out of windows. I am admired by everyone. I am the girl in the mink coat. Perhaps I'll eat a single chocolate truffle and then stroll back to my tiny white apartment and change into a peignoir and congratulate myself for being so thin.
I am perfectly aware that fur is immoral. I am perfectly aware that there is no cause for owning a fur coat in Southern California, where it never, ever snows, or even gets that cold. But dammit, I want one all the same.