|Silver fox jerkin, and the furrier's|
In a triumph of imaginative flair, S purchased a fur jacket in 30 degree heat and 70 percent humidity. Although, to be fair, the furrier's just off Plaza Martin in Calle Santa Fe was an air-conditioned haven. Like many such transactions here, this one was a pleasure. Senor Furrier spoke only a little broken English but his small daughter acted as translator.
S chose the garment she wanted on our first visit and left it to be altered. I'd never in my life spent time in a fur shop. We both stroked the silvery item in the picture, but (entirely hypocritically, because leather shoes and bags, and lamb jackets pass well beneath my moral radar) I couldn't repel a twinge that it must have felt pretty good to the original wearer, too.
Online later, I learned that silver fox is "widely ranched". Which means, presumably, that some of what ends up on stylish backs is hunted down in the wild. To my delight, I also came across the "cross fox".
S's sleeveless jacket - a vest, Americans would call it - is cleverly dyed rabbit. Senor Furrier was at some pains to make clear, this wasn't your common or garden Argentinian native, but Spanish rabbit. Quite why this made it more valuable we couldn't tell.
|The furrier, and S in her Spanish rabbit jerkin|
I do wonder why, when large areas of New Zealand countryside are plagued by rabbits, our designers don't seize on their skins. Even possum fur isn't used to the extent it could be. A fashion niche here, surely?
|More (luridly) dyed rabbit|