I got this really cool leopard print coat at a vintage store in North Beach about a year ago. I’ve been wearing it a lot lately, though I don’t like to make it an everyday thing, since saving it for days when I’m in a particularly feline mood ensures it won’t lose its special occasion sparkle. Also, I’m a very messy girl, and I live in terror of the day when this vintage specimen that’s survived any number of divas before me gets its first coffee stain.
Seriously, that would be tragic.
I’ve noticed that when people see me in it, the cool ones tend to let out a big cat growl and turn their hands into claws. Isn’t that a great way to be greeted? I bought it because at the time I was writing NOTES FROM THE BACKSEAT, a novel about Gwen Matson, a costume designer and vintage clothing store owner who knows how to work leopard print like a mod goddess.
Here’s a little teaser from the book: “It’s widely understood that Gwen only designs for period pieces, and only when the period is somewhere between 1952 and 1963. Everyone’s learned not to even call her unless their show falls between those dates; otherwise, their Juliets always end up looking suspiciously like Jackie O.”
Anyway, back to my magic leopard coat. Wouldn’t it be so fab to find out who owned it before me? It’s from Paris supposedly (at least, that’s what the shop owner told me—am I a sucker?) I’d so love to trace its lineage and find out from its previous owners their favorite moments spent wrapped in its animal magic.
Seriously, that would be tragic.
I’ve noticed that when people see me in it, the cool ones tend to let out a big cat growl and turn their hands into claws. Isn’t that a great way to be greeted? I bought it because at the time I was writing NOTES FROM THE BACKSEAT, a novel about Gwen Matson, a costume designer and vintage clothing store owner who knows how to work leopard print like a mod goddess.
Here’s a little teaser from the book: “It’s widely understood that Gwen only designs for period pieces, and only when the period is somewhere between 1952 and 1963. Everyone’s learned not to even call her unless their show falls between those dates; otherwise, their Juliets always end up looking suspiciously like Jackie O.”
Anyway, back to my magic leopard coat. Wouldn’t it be so fab to find out who owned it before me? It’s from Paris supposedly (at least, that’s what the shop owner told me—am I a sucker?) I’d so love to trace its lineage and find out from its previous owners their favorite moments spent wrapped in its animal magic.
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