When My Frosty Heart Turns to Visions of Light Jackets

Every year, there comes a day when the wool coat that you’ve soldiered along in for the past few months suddenly feels wrong. Last Saturday was that day.

Sure, there have been signals. The crocuses and daffodils are in full flowery riot. Birds and tax accountants are getting frisky, for entirely different reasons and in vastly different spaces. If an overly excited crow offers to do your taxes, you should politely decline. But there’s something else in the air: call it the fashion turn.

People’s ability to discern, right down to a fraction of a millimetre, what is right and wrong about a given piece of clothing has long been a source of fascination. Why are certain folks drawn to certain looks, and others to no looks at all?

Also, what makes a given article of clothing more than a functional bit of cloth and thread, but an extension of your very identity? It’s one of those big-picture questions akin to asking if we are alone in the universe or why some Americans vote Republican. Sartorial choice is one of life’s great mysteries. All I can say, in good Popeye fashion, is you know it when you know it.

If you slip on a coat and it says, “I will make you a better you,” it’s the right one.

When the jacket makes the person

I have been a coat person as far back as I recall. Some people are shoes folks, other hat fanatics (those people are odd). Some are even obsessed with super boring stuff like underpants (Who cares? No one sees it!).

Coats, on the other hand, are something that everyone gets to lay their eyes on. When you’re out in the world, your jacket is the first thing that people may recognize about you. It’s a signature piece: a calling card, er, coat, if you will.

I think back to all the famous and not so-famous coats that I have coveted over the years. There’s Molly Ringwald’s buttery leather jacket fit for a high-school princess.

And then there’s a Blackwatch tartan item worn by a real princess. I’m not the biggest fan of Kate Middleton, but lordy, that coat. If the recent rumours are true that she’s disappeared into the ether, I’m sure she took that coat with her.

Fashion is one of the ways we discern who is who, and who belongs. And crucially, even viciously, who doesn’t. It happened in elementary school and in high school, and it’s still happening. It’s something that occurs to me most vividly at art openings and other cultural events. One is supposed to be looking at what’s on the wall or onscreen, but I often find myself looking at what people are wearing. I’m sure I’m not alone in this.

In the art world, there is a very distinct look cultivated by curators and gallery workers. Taking cues from Japanese design principles, the look is unstructured, quiet, even stealthy in its own fashion. Comme des Garçons and Issey Miyake are right at home here. I see versions of these looks whenever I step into a local gallery or attend a public event where curators and artists are introducing their works.

Some of the most extraordinary coats I’ve ever seen and lusted after have been spotted on the backs of cultural folks at these events. I’m thinking of a certain black-and-white Comme des Garçons beauty that I would happily abscond with. Only the threat of getting caught and serving some jailtime stays my hand. Even then, it might be worth the risk.

The importance of the right look in the art world, whether on canvas or worn by members of the local arts community, is a reminder that we’re all looking for the right frame, the thing that will set us apart. A jacket to make us feel both like ourselves and special at the same time.

Is that too much to ask of a mere garment? Not necessarily. There are other aspects to consider as well.

Layering and lust

Humans have been adorning themselves since the advent of the species. As civilization evolved, so did clothing, changing and adapting not only for practicality’s sake, but also for less than practical stuff. Yes, I am talking about sex.

The moment it gets even slightly warmish, we humans are ready for action! Off come the puffers and woolens. Out come the shorty shorts and body-conscious dresses. And in the case of some men, no shirts at all. Men are just weird, but that’s an entirely other subject. Back to fashion and its idiosyncrasies.

Now that people are doffing the heavier stuff, the in-between season poses some challenges. You’re either too cold or too warm and most likely damp throughout.

Spring is nothing if not unpredictable in Vancouver. One moment it’s raining so hard, it’s like standing under a waterfall in a monsoon. In the next, the sun breaks through, packing a fair amount of heat.

What’s a human to do with such wild unpredictability? Dressing in layers is one answer, but of course there are drawbacks. Like having to drape your coat over your arm when it gets warm, or worse, tying it around your waist like a goddamn hippie.

Does a perfect light jacket or coat exist to contend with all of these climatic and atmospheric variables? Perhaps.

So, gird your loins and other parts therein, because it’s time to go shopping.

Cosmic coats

First off, you probably don’t even need to go to an actual store. Buried in the depths of your closet, you probably already have something that might work.

This is also the season for the coat that is only appropriate for approximately two weeks out of every year. It’s either too thin or too heavy for real winter and or summer, but this is spring. Junk anything brown, taupe, grey or black. ‘Tis the season of navy, green or yes, pink.

Which brings me to a coat that I have yet to find a way to adopt into my wardrobe, but I cannot give it up. It is the most intense shade of fuchsia pink. Think way beyond Barbie: it’s a hue that vibrates on an almost cosmic level. You can see it from outer space.

Constructed from silk faille with an oversized collar and statement sleeves, it is a coat that draws the eye like an explosion. I wore it only once to the opera, but I am determined to get more use for all the money spent (don’t even ask how much). It was the pink that drew me in, I tell you. It felt like an affirmation of all that was bright, positive and hopeful, so I slapped down my credit card and said, “PINK ME, PUNK!”

I didn’t actually say that, but the sentiment was clear.

It’s been hanging in the closet for the better part of a year. But now that spring has sprung, the coat’s time has come. Wear me, it demands in grand diva fashion, and I obey. So, if you espy a vision in colour so bright it brings on a bit of temporary blindness, that’s me!