Oh, the warm glow of seeing there turn of the fillies in fur
For years no one’s dared wear it. But this week fur is everywhere at Cheltenham. And our politically incorrect columnist, for one, is delighted
LOOK out across the milling crowds at this year’s Cheltenham Festival and you could be forgiven for thinking the racecourse had suddenly been transformed into the stuffed animal section of the Natural History Museum.
Female racegoers of all ages were swaddled in fur and gamely flaunting plumage for the delight of onlookers.
One young woman appeared to have an entire fowl in full flight perched on her hat. Carol Vorderman, God love her, showed up in triple fur (hat, collar and handbag), which in Country Life terms is the equivalent of double denim.
Others were swaddled in lush, tactile stoles — deeply sexy with their hint of our feral past — wearing extravagant Russian hats; or simply snuggled up in the kind of fur coat that you thought had gone with the age of glamour.
If the fur at Cheltenham was fake, it certainly didn’t look it — gone are the wacky dyes that used to distinguish it from something much more real. This is such a surprise as fur, feathers and indeed the wearing of anything previously owned by another living creature has, for a number of years now, been strictly forbidden by the PC police.
Even fake attracted opprobrium, as some claimed it helped to normalise the real thing.
Thanks to the efforts of the vocal animal rights lobby — and more recently encouraged by the rise of veganism — the disapproval heaped upon anyone who has dared defy this edict (with the possible exception of Joan Collins) has not been worth risking, especially for anyone in the public eye.
PERSONALLY, I’ve always felt the whole anti-fur thing was a bit irrational. First, the fur industry is like all such industries — of course there are bad practices, and those should be eliminated; but properly regulated, the £24 billion business provides jobs and livelihoods for many.
and when you think about it, for the most part it’s no more cruel than rearing and killing animals to eat them.
and since I eat meat, it would be highly hypocritical of me to criticise others for wearing what is essentially a by-product of the food industry. This includes feathers, which are mostly from pheasants, pigeons or geese.
and, second, so much plasticbased modern fabric is actually much worse for the environment, as it’s heated and treated and shipped halfway around the world, thus contributing to the destruction of the planet’s wildlife in myriad other, far more sinister ways. Washing it also releases micro-plastics into the ocean.
still, the animal rights mob is loud, vocal, fashionable and often scary. Thus celebrities, royalty and politicians have all fallen dutifully in line, afraid of the risks to their reputation, not to mention having a bucket of paint ( or worse) poured over their heads.
slowly but surely, real fur, along with anything too obviously reminiscent of our fuzzy or feathered friends, has disappeared from our streets, replaced by manmade equivalents that salve the consciences of their owners even as they destroy the precious natural resources they claim to protect. all of which is why it was such a delight to see racegoers at this week’s Cheltenham Festival gamely challenge the notion of feather and fur as bloodsoaked emblems of humanity’s inhumanity to animal, and flaunting the stuff.
Imagine alexis Carrington having tea with Cruella de Vil, and you’ll get some sense of the looks on show.
Leading the pack, of course, was the Duchess of Cornwall, who unlike the virtue- signalling younger royals, is far too wise and sensible to care what anyone thinks of her, hence presumably her smart tweed suit finished with a fur-trimmed hat.
so why the sudden change of heart? Was it some kind of coordinated effort among the women of the shires to sock it to their bleeding heart metropolitan sisters in a fur- flying show of defiance? Or were they just a bit cold? Both, I suspect.
and why not? after all, it’s about time someone stood up to the PC brigade. Who better to do so than the no- nonsense ladies of Cheltenham? sartorially, countryside chic definitely won the day. shades of green and brown reflected nature’s hues. Footwear was practical and warm, without any of the usual stripper heels or tramps’ trotters that have been spotted punching holes in the hallowed turf of late. Gloves — elegant, leather — were de rigueur.
In many ways, this tide of tweed and cashmere harked back to more elegant days, and indeed many of the outfits had a distinctly vintage feel to them. Like their
wearers, they were well-worn but no less elegant for it — and of course that is the joy of fur: it tends to be a once or twice in a lifetime purchase, something special you keep in the back of the wardrobe and bring out for special occasions.
It lasts and lasts. And really, when you think about it, once it’s dead, it’s dead. You might as well wear it rather than hide it, otherwise those creatures will have died in vain.
That’s how I feel, at least, about the ancient (1940s) fur coat I bought a few years ago from a second-hand shop during a cold snap. I paid £100 for it, and I shall own it until the day I die, not least because it’s beautifully cut in the way that they just don’t cut things any more and, of course, it keeps me warm while at the same time looking elegant.
Which is more than can be said for those glorified duvets you see people wearing these days.
Fur is also, of course, incredibly flattering. There is something about the softness, the texture around the face or neck that does wonders for the older woman, especially one whose complexion has been weathered by country living. Add a chic little net, as one racegoer did, and you have yourself a lovely bit of soft focus, without the need for any filters.
What more could a woman of a certain age want?