On a recent buying trip in New York, I picked out this jacket for the store because I wanted one for myself. I wasn’t just drunk on power, I was in love. Passionately, tenderly, instantly in love. It hung aloof on the rack, so saturated with wild beauty that it didn’t think I had the balls to pick it up. I had the balls. SO many balls. I picked it up. I touched it. I held it close to me. I caressed it. I turned it over and over again in my hands, dazed and dazzled by the audacity of its construction.
See, it’s not warm. It’s thin cotton with a thin cotton lining. This garment’s only practical application is to conceal nudity. It will not keep you warm. It scoffs at the very idea. Manual labor? No, this jacket’s purpose is to look pretty. That’s all. But it’s enough. It takes its basic shape from a classic trench coat, and then spins wildly off in hundreds of delirious directions. Look at what’s going on in the back. It’s a bustle. Not the kind that bounced Slue Foot Sue to the moon, but the kind that rests gently against your buttcheeks and flatters your ass with whispered kisses every time you take a step.
It is composed of a symphony of breathless panels, shorter in the back and longer on the sides, layered like the petals of a sexy flower. Did you read that National Geographic article that explained how certain types of orchids will mimic the pheromone signature of pollinators to seduce them into their wanton petals? That kind of flower.
Speaking of flowers, check out the print. This is not wallflower print. This is drunk on champagne, singing in public, swimming naked, yelling at strangers, and having 20 orgasms a day print. This print doesn’t care what you think because it’s drunk.
Did you notice the buttoned epaulets? The softly turned up collar? It thinks it’s in the military but the only thing it’s shooting is you. Right in the heart. Bang. Bang.
Isn’t she lovely?
By Ark & Co. $80, and worth every goddamn cent.