The Coat

For the past few weeks, I've been relying on one coat above all others. My mother bought The Coat at some point during my college years. I don't remember exactly when it made its way into my life, but I do remember that I wasn't exactly enamored with it. It was a bit small, and, I thought, a bit boring. An interesting response from me considering that college wasn't a time in my life when I necessarily cared all that much about my clothing.

But I cared enough to know that I didn't like it. I often left it hanging in my closet in favor of my long, black coat or my puffy jacket. Last winter with a good amount of weight gone and a relatively mild winter, I wore the coat more and more. I came to love its hidden surprises. The outer pattern that from a distance appeared to be a single color but revealed itself upon closer inspection.


The cream silk lining with the roses painted on it.


I thought I was the only one who took notice of these things, but every time I wear it, someone comments on it. People touch it. Pet it. Finger the lining. It's beautiful, but is it warm?

Sometimes Yes. Sometimes No. It's thinner than my long, black coat. It has buttons that snap in the front and are prone to opening of their own accord. I pile lime green, crew neck sweaters and cable knit, black cardigans underneath it. I either hold it shut using one of my wide belts or I let it fly open. Flapping behind me in the breeze as I walk. People wrapped tightly in their puffers stare at me as I pass.

I wear it on days that I shouldn't and shiver.