fur and hair

When I stayed at the classic-movie-themed Chelsea Pines Inn a couple of years ago, the hallways were lined with posters from the 1960s advertising Blackglama, which was, I gathered, a fur company. They all featured black and white photos of divas like Marlene Dietrich, Lena Horne and Raquel Welch beneath the headline What becomes a legend most? Answer: Blackglama!

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.