Few things make my blood boil more than misplaced activism.
I’m referring today to that article in the Washington Post about younger generations of women not wanting their grandmothers’ vintage fur.
There is nothing more luxurious, more glamorous—not to mention warmer— than a good fur coat. I’m against animal cruelty as much as the next girl (although I do think the case could be made that every animal has a purpose in this world and the purpose of the mink just might be to keep humans looking glamorous and feeling warm). I love animals, especially when they’re on my plate or draped around my shoulders.
I guess I’m tired of sanctimonious people overthinking issues and ruining good things for the rest of us. Fur, diamonds, horse racing (basically some of the best things in life) now have their own respective armies of moralists who want to take them away from the rest of us. Don’t get me started on anti-horse racing activists, because those horses are absolutely born to run and bred to run, and if you take that away from them you’re taking away their purpose.
Anti-fur people can definitely make a case against new fur accessories (a case which I will politely disregard), but vintage fur is in a different category. It’s like antique ivory. What’s done is done, people, so we all might as well just enjoy the vintage fur with clean consciences.
I think my upcoming trip to the racino on Friday night definitely calls for vintage fur.