January 24, 2004
The Coat

You know, I like to think of myself as a cool person. Someone who's easygoing, well-read, and approachable. Someone who has a good sense of humor, and an ability to relate meaningfully to people around me. That's cool, right?

I can carry a tune and play basic chords on a guitar. I can snap with both fingers and whistle complicated tunes. I can play songs by Mozart on the piano and violin. I can offer blessings in Russian and curses in French (well, who can't?).

But one thing I cannot do, friends, is dress myself. The fact is, I am a fashion failure.

I do not lie. I struggle with the most basic concepts of style, and have been known to avoid even slightly trendy styles because I "just know that top will be out of style again in a few years." Frankly, my 59-year-old mother is much more striking and pulled-together than I am (I get surprised complements from friends whenever I borrow her clothes). A couple of years ago, I had to ask a friend (a male co-worker friend, if you'll believe it!) how to choose the right socks to go with my pants (he looked at me incredulously, but he answered my question).

My closet includes no shortage of outdated, outmoded, ill-fitting, unflattering clothes that should have been tossed out at the end of the first Reagan administration.

Absolutely nowhere is my fashion cluelessness more apparent than in the area of winter outerwear.

Friends, allow me to introduce you to The Coat:


Oh, The Coat. Where do I begin this saga of pain? I was given The Coat in 1991, as a junior in high school. At the time, I was really grateful for it. A nice warm winter coat, insulated, toasty-warm, sort of outdoorsy, Eddie Bauer-ish. It was perfectly appropriate for my slacker-inspired, fashion-ignorant wardrobe (lots of bucs, jeans and sweaters).

I wore The Coat all through college. Pulled it out of the closet every winter on the coldest days of the year. The Coat's performance was consistently strong, but as time went by, the soul passed out of it, like the soul goes out of the face of a woman after her husband runs off with a younger, prettier woman.

The Coat stuck with me through the end of college and the beginning of professional life. As the winters passed, I was working hard at getting my life in line. Getting a job that I cared about, moving out to a place of my own, meeting my future husband. The Coat was there, and paid tacit, plaid-lined witness to those stories.

But this winter, I think that The Coat and I are finally at the end of the road. For The Coat is still with me, but I am no longer with The Coat. I am working hard at changing my fashion image, and I don't think The Coat can make the change with me.

Because, my gosh, I don't ever want to wear The Coat again.

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So buy a new coat! you cry. Get over it! And you're right. I should. But it's not that simple! The fact is, it's still a perfectly good coat. That's the problem. Why spend money on a new coat when I've already got a perfectly good one? Children starving in Africa, et cetera.

So I've been walking the sidewalks this winter wearing The Coat, hoping to come upon a bizarre, geyser-like chemical spill, or a startling, unexpected bonfire in the middle of the street. If I could only scorch The Coat beyond recognition, or allow one of the sleeves to be eaten off by a toxic acid, then I would feel completely justified in buying a new coat.

Last week I talked to Tom about The Coat.

	Me: I think I would like to get a new coat. Him: Hmmm. Well, you know, you do have a perfectly good coat right there. Me: Yeah, but it's so stupid-looking. I hate this coat. I went out to lunch with a bunch of people from work today, and I felt like such a dork. They were all wearing their tailored leather jackets, and I was lumbering down the sidewalk behind them like a lumberjack. You should've seen me. Mothers saw me coming and snatched their children off the sidewalk so I couldn't terrorize them with my chainsaw! I guess I just wouldn't mind having a coat that makes it clear that I am actually a girl. Him: So I hear you saying that you want a coat that will reflect your sexuality. Me: At this point, I'd settle for any coat that doesn't make me look an understudy for the Brawny Man.

I was outside with a colleague on Monday morning (this is the same co-worker that gave me all that Good Advice About Socks a few years ago). We were taking some pictures with a digital camera for a work project. I was griping to him about The Coat. He punished my complaints by turniing the camera on me for a little mini-fashion photoshoot with me and The Coat. Oh, eyes, look your last! I dare say this is as fashionable as The Coat may ever look. There must be a chemical spill out there with this little darling's name on it.