If you clothed yourself in a dead animal, it seemed, you went from “slightly past your prime” to “legend.” I’m all for the awesomeness of older ladies, but I’d like to think that true legendary status could come across via wool or tweed. Even leather, which, at least, is a byproduct. (West Hollywood, where I spent a sunny, fur-free day at the book fair this weekend, just outlawed fur. Good work, WeHo!)
But this month’s Vogue is unapologetically full of fur, and Janet Jackson is the new face of Blackglama. Who knew it was still around? I have to admit she looks great, and this jacket is more Rhythm Nation than uptown lady who lunches. But come on! Did all those buckets of red paint mean nothing? Was being anti-cruelty just another trend that came and went?
In less controversial, but perhaps more fun, fashion news, my post about my secret love of frizzy hair is up over at Ironing Board Collective. Meanwhile, we’ve started calling Ferdinand “Blackglama.” He is a legend, and it becomes him.