Sometimes, something comes along that makes me laugh and then makes me think. Those are the best little tidbits that life can throw at you. So I saved it as fodder for this column since my attention for the last couple of weeks has been drawn to the Texas primary elections, which made me think and then made me laugh. The order of those responses makes all the difference.
So there was a piece from Vogue titled “Wait—Are We Wearing Fur Again?” Of course, that alone made me chortle because my response to that was “Wait—I’m still wearing fur.”
Apparently, this was a hot topic in the Vogue offices recently during New York Fashion Week, described in the piece as “a quite controversial subject.” Now, I’m not one to shy away from anything controversial, but let’s look at the big picture. It does seem to me that whether or not we can wear vintage fur without shame does not really rate as being particularly contentious outside of a bubble of New York fashionistas whose discernment begins and ends with what one can do in Manhattan without anyone batting an eye that would cause one to get looks in Brooklyn.
Just as I was thinking how silly this whole topic was, it took a turn into territory that began to sound a tad bit more political than I expected. One of the fashion writers asked, “Is the resurgence of fur in fashion a dog whistle for conservatism?” Well, I thought, not when I’m wearing it.
The article proceeded to discuss the sustainability of faux fur, with one senior editor imagining those coats “melting into a puddle of plastic” before commenting that “reuse and recycling can include vintage fur.” Oh, dear Lord, did you just give me an out—a massive rationalization to do what I was going to do anyway. I can cloak my sin of wearing fur in the purity of being “environmentally friendly.” That in fact, I am “ensuring the animal’s spirit lives on.” Goodness gracious, who doesn’t want to make all those minks and beavers and foxes practically immortal? After all, they were already dead when I got the coat.
The differences between vintage, new, and faux fur aren’t really the point. Given a little time and a little perspective and a little more information, what we think about almost any subject is likely to change, to evolve, and to become more nuanced.
I was talking to an old friend of mine a few months back about her evolution of beliefs within the context of Christian thinking. Her journey (I hate using that word in this context) had little similarity to mine on the subject, but I absolutely loved that she was so open about using her own personal yardstick to decide what she believed and held and what she didn’t believe and therefore discarded. Exercising discernment is usually a sign of personal growth.
Growing up in the Southern Baptist church, not as it is today, but back when the brand desire was to be seen as Presbyterians or at least Methodists who didn’t drink, there was the concept of personal conviction. This allowed for a contemporary response to all sorts of things not explicitly covered in the Bible.
Whether or not it was a sin to smoke was one of them. A lot of the men in the church smoked back then, and more than a few of the ladies. The Bible didn’t say anything about it specifically, so that personal conviction had to kick in. So if God laid it on your heart not to smoke, you shouldn’t smoke. If He didn’t, you could. Seems reasonable to me, if just a tad convenient.
Of course, I had to go a little further about certain things that I had no personal conviction against doing, but about which the Bible was pretty specific. Like my friend, I used my own yardstick and got on with my life.
This whole business about fur, rather a low priority in the scheme of things, exemplifies how there are more than two sides to an issue. Sometimes, the issue du jour may be more like a die with six or even more sides. When that is the case, we’re challenged not so much to pick a side. Rather, it seems we’re called upon to hold up the die and see it from multiple angles.
It’s not easy for many of us, but when we can, we get to use discernment. That, in all actuality, may be the whole point.
