Fashion Opinion
“It won’t bite”…
Rosa Van Hensbergen was originally meant to model in Varsity’s Narnia-themed fur shoot (“as a glamorous 1940s beaver”), but dropped out. Here’s her explanation and response to Fashion editor Charlotte Wu’s post on fur.
I really like silly costumes, especially of the cross(species)-dressing variety. And I am utterly obsessed with the fashion, art, and literature of the forties. My favourite childhood book was even my best friend’s illustrated The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Evidently, I was totally game for dressing as the beaver in a ‘Narnia’ fashion shoot. Evidently, however, I hadn’t really thought it through. Hadn’t thought about the fact that real fur was fine in the forties, and increasingly fine in the noughties. Hadn’t thought about the fact that I don’t wear real fur in my everyday life for a more significant reason than the fact it smells funny and I don’t fancy getting ‘Giseled’ (my new term for anti-fur abuse). It was fast becoming clear to me that I would have to acknowledge a serious level of hypocrisy if I took the light-hearted option of donning vintage fur and posing as a fluffy mammal.
Thankfully, I remembered that I often wear vintage fake fur, with no questions asked, and I could doubly cover my ethical back by writing an article to make sure no-one mistook my vintage fake for vintage real. No weeping conscience about the beaver on my back, plus all the fun of looking ridiculous before the student population. And, for a whole day this was a very real solution. I even had the title planned: ‘Yes, I’m dressed as a beaver. No, I’m not wearing one.’ I was ready to make a ‘morally responsible’ stand. But then I realised I had no leg to stand on. Because if vintage fur promotes the current killing of endangered innocents, then fake fur does too. And, if real fur deprives us of a couple of animals we’ve once seen on Planet Earth, then non-biodegradable fake fur makes this planet earth that bit uglier when it joins the realms of nappies on a landfill site. In my defence (batting my baby beaver lashes), I do only own second-hand fake fur, and my wardrobe will be post-apocalyptically barren if this argument carries on for much longer. My point is, a little navel-gazing is not always a bad thing. Fur should make you feel something. My friend, for example, sees a mink-clad grande dame and feels the pangs of fur-lust-envy (apparently a serious psychosis). I, on the other hand, feel the sweaty palms of someone with a guilty secret: ‘don’t tell, but I am writing an anti-fur blog’.
The thing is, wearing it forces you to think something too. What choosing not to appear in the ‘Narnia’ shoot has forced me to acknowledge, is that asking why I don’t wear fur might also throw up some uncomfortable self-criticisms. I am trying out being a vegetarian for while, but I still eat fish and eggs; I am re-considering my fake fur, but I am not ready to reconsider those leather boots I just bought; I am trying to buy local produce more, but I just noticed the blueberries I am eating are flown from Australia.
Conclusion: I am a self-diagnosed hypocrite, in all ways. Most of us are. But I refuse to dismiss every attempt to ‘be better’ on these grounds. Sometimes thinking about what the ‘being better’ says about other aspects of your life can lead to a couple of other changes. This can’t be a bad thing…
Warning: thinking is a dangerous sport (possibly worse than fox-hunting). It might make you ask why fur is worn more and more unquestioningly, and whether it should be so happily absorbed into your wardrobe just because others are seen looking good in it. Safety in numbers is not an adequate defence. Hypocrisy isn’t either. So, maybe I’ll rehearse a few more convincing arguments at some point. Until then, I’ll be wearing my trench coat.
Topics: Environment, Fashion
