My Identity is Maybe a Little Tied Up In a Stupendous Overcoat

There I was—in New York City, in January, in thirty-five degrees with a ten-degree wind chill—wearing my magnificent new coat. It was tweed; it was warm; it went below my knees; and it fit me in its comfy, stylish, gently oversized way. And, as I stomped from Midtown to Chinatown, admiring its reflection in every stopped car window and storefront, I felt awfully proud of myself.

You see, I had saved my pennies (this was back when we had those) for months, shivering my way through November and December, because it was all going to be worth it when I bought that exceptional coat.

It was too—it was!

That’s an embarrassing thing to admit. You’re supposed to keep aloof from your coats. Coats don’t count for much, you’re supposed to say, you value experiences. Consumerism has been in the water (and the air, and the blood) for so long that no one has enthusiasm for a coat these days unless they’re selling it as part of a brand partnership. And, honestly, no one wants to hear the naked status-signaling that comes when you throw around words like “raglan sleeves” and “fabric mill.”

Nonetheless!

The proof of the pudding is in the eating, and the proof of a coat is in the wearing. Well, and how well this coat wears, I thought to myself on that windy NYC morning. In the hotel, I had played with all sorts of combinations. Collar up, collar down; buttoned, unbuttoned, belted. It did everything, it looked great doing it. It was that rare piece of clothing that cooperated with you completely; whatever you paired it with, however you did your hair, this coat would come through for you.

And it was a dream to wear! The silky lining never snagged, the coat hung cozily on your body like a blanket, and, when you ventured out into the chill, the tweed kept you warm. (Not especially protective against the wind, but you could fit a windbreaker underneath it, so no harm.)

People say they forgo coats to focus on experiences—as if coats and experiences are in competition. In my experience, coats are experiences, ones you get to experience every time you put them on. And they swoosh. How many experiences swoosh? Not a lot.

I will say: it took extensive research to pick out such a perfect coat. I combed blogs and forums and Instagram feeds and vintage sites, looking at dozens of overcoat options. I talked myself into a bigger and bigger budget, which meant a longer and longer wait before I could actually have it—but this was going to be my forever coat and I didn’t want to compromise. Finally, I found it: beautiful, lovable, ten percent off. I spent a few days hesitated and overthinking, as tradition demands. Then, I bought my coat.

The whole process brought into relief the many unfair coat advantages I enjoy. As an online overeducated middle-class white-collar worker, I have leisure time and know-how for extensive coat research, and I can to stretch my budget to cover almost any coat.

I understand why some online overeducated middle-class white-collar workers respond to this by repudiating coats altogether. Still, I don’t think it’s an ideal response. By all means, try not to spend wastefully. By all means, do little things you can do to bring us closer to a society where everyone has beautiful coats. But, if you don’t enjoy coats, there’s no need to turn that into a high-minded moral stance. And if you do enjoy coats, enjoy them! The small artisan coat company is probably not the pillar holding up the greed-tainted economic order, anyhow. I would be more leery about the company that sells the mass-manufactured discount alternatives. Which aren’t even real tweed.

“Real tweed” is the route taken by the rest of us online overeducated middle-class white-collar workers. We feel guilty about our consumerism, so we hide behind words like “craft” and “artisanal” to conceal the embarrassing truth that we like coats. You can smell our pretentiousness miles away.

Still, real tweed. Have you felt its texture, its weight? There’s something special there. It’s not just some distinction without a difference for monocle-polishing influencers to talk-up—real tweed is great! My coat is an undyed wool, so you get the natural creams and beiges of the sheep, woven into a beautiful herringbone. It drapes like you wouldn’t believe—and did I mention it swooshes?

Yes, there are people trying to show superiority by yammering about corozo buttons; and, yes, there are people who are deprived of basic necessities, to say nothing of coats; and, absolutely, it’s consumerism all the way down and everything’s an ad. It’s all true. But that doesn’t annihilate how good a good coat can be.

There I am, circling Washington Square Park. And look how it swooshes!