In California I had one coat. Ok, maybe two. A fleece zip-up, and a cute white raincoat. That’s it. A ton of sweaters, too, and maybe a puffy vest. But coats? There’s just no need for a closet full.
Now, here, in Massachusetts, I’m whoring myself out for coats. It used to be shoes. Forget Manolo Blahniks. Jimmy Choo? Nah. Who needs Jimmy when you’re clomping around in sub-degree weather? What gets me excited these days is the latest North Face style. I wish there were runway shows of trenches, windbreakers, puffier and puffiest, mid-length, angle-length and at the hip.
"My Mom's a coat whore."
I actually didn’t realize my addiction until a 2nd grade potluck at school. We are the only ‘walkers,’ and a mom said “Wow…you really have a LOT of coats, we’ve noticed.” Oh well, better North Face than Absolut. (Not that there’s anything wrong with a little martini every night, is there?)
