In which I don’t pity (or PETA) fur-wearers

Somehow in my ‘net wanderings I came across this article, describing how an outdated fur coat can be freshened up with laser beams, snips, nips and tucks:

“Old coats often don’t fit today’s styles” goes the lament, and I’m sure that’s true. Woe betide the stylish lass who drops $40k on a stoat coat, only to find it dèclassè in mere months! This angst has clearly settled on the poor citizen shown at left above, who regains her firmness of purpose after a few clams have been spent revivifying her fuzzy carapace.

Look, I don’t have a huge moral problem with fur — the fur factories are disgusting — but on the scale of moral tragedies we have to contend with, it ain’t really in the running. PETA’s tactics are bizarre, offensive and counterproductive, to say the least. But surely there’s some middle ground where we can all band together to mock fickle fur-wearers who aren’t satisfied with the “Dynasty sleeves” of the coat they inherited from Great-Aunt Beulah?

No, *you* go fug *yourself*

Neener neener!

I have limited fashion sense, to the point where if you got 10 independent experts together and monitored me for a year in a Swiss bunker with copies of GQ and Mademoiselle and, uh, Women’s Wear Daily, they would maybe say that I have no measureable fashion sense at all. So bear that in mind as I attest that sometimes the GoFugYourself songbirds occasionally confuse me with their firm opinions about what is and innit acceptable for famous humans to wear in public.

Take this outfit, for example:

HeatherFug hates it, condemns the story-book qualities of the skirt and what-not, but I gotta say that I would be thrilled and inclined to wed any woman who wore such a thing on a date with me. Thunderingly stupid fashion idiots like myself like bright, simply-understood colors, that’s my theory.