Sometimes a garment seems to have a life of its own and transfers that magical life to its wearer. This coat is a perfect example. I’ve seen many women come into the shop and when they find this coat, a sense of awe settles over their countenance. They touch it. No. They caress it. They walk around it, surveying it from every angle and then they put it on. That is when the magic happens. The worries of the day are stripped away and a light shines from within them. Even the most shy are transformed into a Hollywood starlet from that golden era. They prance about the store, twirling this way and that. They flip the hem back as they turn. They wrap it possessively around their bodies. They toss their hair, preen and pirouette once more — loathe to take it off. I keep waiting for one of them to say, “All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up.”
Each woman removes it slowly and replaces it on the mannequin. They give a final look as they walk toward the door. The coat has not found its muse…yet.