Ode to a jacket... pleather through the years...



children have stuffed animals they can't bear to part with. Adults have clothes they can't let go. Mine is this awful, tan, pleather (for those who didn't embrace thrift store chic or weren't of age in the 70's, it's plastic made to look like leather) thing. It's actually not the oldest coat I have. I still have one from high school that I got in France. Ok, I'll admit I'm a hoarder. It's very hard for me to throw things out. I got the pleather wonder when I was 20, a junior in college. I was a cynical kid. Many of my friends at the time were outside the mainstream, anti-establishment kids, too. Opting out of frat parties, we hung out at cafes til 3 AM discussing politics hidden in the X Files, the racism in SB property mgt or whether The View was feminist or anti-feminist. Since my friends and I were not Montecito heiresses but quinitessential starving students we were convinced thrift store chic was the way to go. Santa Barbara didn't have a Mervyn's, a Target or any store to buy new clothes that fit a starving student budget so perhaps our environment pushed us into it. It was either Robinson's May or the thrift store alley. We embraced the alley whole hog. We thought we had thrift store chic down to both an art and a science. We knew which stores had salvagable goods that could be made cool with the right shoes (never buy shoes second hand) and accessories.

My crowning masterpiece was my pleather jacket. Somehow it went with everything. Jeans and long black skirts. My navy, pinstripe men's trousers and my short, tan, mesh skirt. It went with any color, except red (until it was briefly decided at the turn of the century that red and brown went together). Honestly, I could persuade myself that any color could be morphed into looking good with my precious jacket. Like my Baby Baa when I was six, it went everywhere with me. With a thick sweater it became a winter coat while over a tank it worked for coastal summers. I had my first kiss in that mostrousity (yes, I was 20). Fittingly, the kiss was also a monstrous disappointment. I've seen all my favorite bands live while wearing that jacket. It's been through every imaginable hairstyle and length with me. Almost any party I attended from 20 on, the jacket came with me. Nevermind that it did (and still does) shed plastic morsels every time I wore/wear it. It's always had a huge rip inside that makes it hard to get my left arm into the arm hole correctly. It's a small price to pay for "fashion", especially since it's monetary price was so low. We can safely say that for almost 10 yrs I haven't been able to let it go.


I know I have worn it to events requiring outerwear in much better condition. Museum banquets, fancy dinners with a professor. But, I didn't care. I reveled in the impropriety. As my mom would be the first to say, it gave me the subtle appearance of a renegade without having to pierce ten holes in my ear, shave my head or wear steel-toed boots. Yes, I have had friends who did at one time (obviously, no one pictured). It can be hard to see all that in this jacket but I've seen it that way. Also as a comfort, a memory of less complicated times. Recently, I have decided that, of the 30 things I must do before I turn 30, the top of the list includes parting ways with my awesomely-bad, pleather jacket... Does this mean I can no longer be a pseudo-renegade? Naw, but I don't need my jacket to do it. So, join me in saying farewell to my jacket... my fake leather, shedding wonder.