COLUMNISTS

Deidre Dare

In my heart of hearts, I always knew it would happen. My Beloved came back to me!

"My darling! My darling!" I wept in joy whilst bestowing many kisses. "You're back! How I've missed you, my gorgeous sweetheart! How I've longed for you every day and night!

I love you so, so much!"

Yes, at long last, I took my fur coat out of storage.

The absolute best thing about winter in Moscow is wearing fur.

My fur is a full-length snow leopard and when I first got it my sister back home was so appalled she immediately sent me a photograph of a live one. You know: all cute and cuddly with whiskers and other endearing trappings. I laughed aloud.

Obviously, the woman had never worn fur.

I once went on an expedition to Antarctica with my third husband. When I moved here I brought all that South Pole gear with me in order to keep warm during winters that had defeated both Napoleon and Hitler. The frigid cold has been Russia's most loyal ally. I knew from those historical lessons that the Russian Winter would be a formidable foe.

Against my leopard pelt, that Antarctic equipment is a mere gossamer veil. Nothing on this planet can keep you as warm as a good fur coat. With it on, I often don't even need a hat or gloves no matter how cold it is outside. When I went up to the Arctic Circle last New Year's to see the Northern lights, I eschewed the politically correct goose-down stuff and brought the fur instead. Clad in it, I could comfortably stand outside the Ice Hotel and smoke a few cigarettes. (I still don't get why you can't smoke in the Ice Hotel. I mean, it's not like it's going to burn down or anything.)

Then there's the fact that all we fur-clad Muscovites look simply fabulous. Walking down Tverskaya during the winter months is like walking down a fashion runway in Paris or Milan. There's just something about fur that makes women in Moscow (including myself) sashay. We sashay a little here. Then we sashay a little there. And then we sashay back.

Compare that to the appearance of the expat women here who recoil from buying fur due to the Western "horror" of it all. Bundled up in their bulky ski-gear, these chicks look like waddling five-year olds. Rather than down a runway, they look like they should be walking up Mount Everest. Not the best look if they want to get into Garage on a Saturday night.

Despite my sister's attempt to make me feel it, I haven't experienced any guilt over the fate of the snow leopard that became my coat. Unless I have to kill something myself, I don't get emotionally invested. 

The leopard had her sashay days. Now I have mine. None of us get to live forever.

Anyway, I've always secretly suspected that geese neither enjoy nor survive the plucking of their downy feathers and no one tries to make us feel guilty about wanting soft, fluffy pillows.

I take a big risk every time I wear my Russian fur coat abroad in the West. Many New Yorkers made their disapproval known when I was on a trip back home earlier this year. This came as a big surprise to the Russian who was my travelling companion. That people would actually shout at me while walking down the street was incomprehensible to him.

"You'd think you were wearing their skin!" he remarked.

But he pointed out an interesting thing to me: every single person who harassed me was middle-aged, on the heavy side, ugly and had thin lips. And they were universally female.

I don't know what it means, but it was an interesting observation.

Confronted with these obnoxious, sanctimonious bitches, I just pretended to be Russian with a few well-placed "Spasibo bolshoi"s and "Dosvidanya"s.  Which seemed to scare them to death and successfully sent them scurrying away. I don't know what that means either, but it was another interesting observation from that trip.

Sometimes, however, what Westerners say and what they do can be very different.

I had a girlfriend visit me recently from the West. After entering my flat and saying, "You look fantastic!" she added sotto-voice, "Can I wear your fur one night while I'm here?"

"I thought you were anti-fur?"

I exclaimed.

"No one has to know about it," she whispered, reaching out to caress my coat.

And it was obvious to me that she too had fallen head-over-heels for My Beloved.

Did I let her borrow it? What do you think?

Of course I didn't!

xxoo

DD