The Fur Coat
When l was a young married lady, we socialized a lot. Life was a merry whirl of social activities. There were luncheons galore. There were dinner parties, engagements, and weddings. We went to concerts and plays. We dined in rather chic places. There was always something exciting to do. That all needed clothes. It was unseemly, in our world, to wear the same ones too often. I had a couple of dressmakers with whom l had dresses made at least once a fortnight. I had a shoemaker also. He had a wooden form of my feet, and every season l would go in and choose the shoes l required. I was considered to be quite attractive and very well dressed. I had a reputation to keep, and l did so meticulously. I never considered myself to be vain, but very well-groomed. That was important to me.
However, there was one thing that l truly yearned for … a fur coat. All my friends had at least a mink coat. One of my friends even had a fur coat made for her little girl. She wore it to children’s birthday parties. l comforted myself that l carried my clothes better than most of the ladies in my society. Heads always turned when l entered the room, and l knew it. Still, that did not comfort me too much. I so wanted a fur coat. I was consumed by that desire. It so happened that one year l was in Israel, and a lady mentioned that she knew a very good furrier. Curious, l asked questions. Next thing l knew she offered to take me to his shop. All excited, l accepted. We went. I chose a beige broadtail coat with a wide deep rich brown mink collar. It was belted. The buttons and the buckle matched perfectly. The whole process took three weeks to be cut and sewn. You can’t imagine the thrill and impatience l felt all that while to own and wear that coat! I was perhaps twenty-six years old at that time. My next stop was London. It was autumn. I imagined myself wearing my coat to the different teas and dinners that l would be invited to! I could imagine all my friends complimenting me on the beauty of that coat. Oh la la! My head was quite in the clouds! I went to one fitting and then another. At last, the coat was ready. As l stood in front of the mirror. l had anticipated feeling the thrill of owning that coat. I was disappointed for the thrill l anticipated was not there. As I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I remember thinking, ‘Okay Stella, now you own your very first fur coat. What has changed in you?’ And the sad answer was, ‘Nothing. Nothing has changed in me. I was exactly the same person l was before l owned that coat.’ That is when l learned a lesson I have not forgotten. Clothes cannot change who you are. You are who you are…
Many years later, I was at one of the low points of my life, l had just lost my father. It was my first experience with the death of someone close to me. I was bereft. All l felt was a desolate emptiness. l cannot describe the unbearable searing pain l felt at my loss. My sister Gilda, my son Kelly, and I were sitting shiva at his home in Los Angeles. We huddled together like lost souls. A man walked in to pay his condolences. He saw me and came up to me. He did not pay his respects but with a big smile, held my hand in both of his and said, ‘You were one of the most beautiful women in Tehran.’ For a minute l felt a smile curl on my lips. No, l was not one of the most beautiful, I was one of the most well-groomed. Now l am a mature older woman. I still like to make a good impression. I still like to look well put together, but l carry a cane and walk oh so slowly. I do not go out as much. It is no longer important to me. I much prefer the company of a few good friends, a cup of tea and an interesting conversation, or a quiet time at home with a good book and my ever-present classical music. Sometimes l happen to glimpse a young, beautiful and well-dressed lady passing by. She is tastefully put together. Her deportment is flawless. I then smile to myself and think, ‘Ah yes, a well-groomed young lady. I remember those days well…’