Turn off the Furnace, Put on the Faux Fur

By Mary Beth Karoll

In Manhattan last winter, I was astonished to encounter several vagrants sporting very attractive furs. Everything else these mendicants had on was apparently worn-out and filthy, so a long silver fox coat seemed utterly incongruous, a luxury item that didn't belong in the pathetic picture. I incorrectly assumed that they were pimps down on their luck hanging on to one of their most treasured possessions from better days in the old Times Square. The sight was almost touching. Then I chanced to read about a local charity that donates used furs to the homeless, and I surmised that these fur-clad itinerants were actually lucky recipients of the charity's largesse. In their case, a fur coat provides the ultimate in warmth while walking and sleeping on the streets. PETA activists would have a lot of nerve to splash red paint on the somewhat dapper fur-clad chaps who are presently down on their luck.

A gentleman wearing a fur coat always demands attention, although the style was most recently popular in the 1960s among a certain set of ultra-sophisticated types who dared to look a bit effete. Whenever I spot a man in a fur coat nowadays, I generally assume he is European and even then rather eccentric. A quick glance at men's fur fashions described in The New York Times in August of 1968 finds a Persian lamb coat with a mink collar, a jazzy jaguar overcoat, a black Alaskan seal double-breasted coat, and a rare sea otter coat, some or all of which give us a chill today, since we are more ecologically aware than in that more innocent era! However cruel, the most versatile item worn by a manly type with a beard, tinted Ray-Bans, and an aggressive stance, was a tawny guanaco cape "as big as a bedspread," clasped with a gilt chain fastening at the neck.

It may now be the height of summer, but consider such a distinctive double-duty fur as you are looking ahead to a chilly winter and mounting heating oil prices. Cut a dashing figure in a (faux) fur cape by day and toss it on the bed at night as you turn down the thermostat as far as you, the pipes and your paramour can stand. A guanaco is from the camel family and looks something like a llama, so in other words it's a cute animal with an "awww" factor. Probably women would find you more of a sensitive and sensible character if you were to raise llamas for their wool rather than to wear a coat worn from baby guanaco skins.

But if you don't feel quite comfortable wearing a fur in public, never mind a cape, a faux fur bedspread is a retro item much in need of revival! If you're the venturesome sort looking to make a strong statement, you could even begin now to line your entire bedroom in a cocoon of insulating fur, a la Roger Vadim's Barbarella or along the line of swinging '70s minivan décor.

In the '70s, basketball stars were the ultimate in cool, and their furry lairs were no less studlike in their opulence. Wilt "The Stilt" Chamberlain's spectacularly super-sized, sybaritic bachelor pad in the Santa Monica Mountains overlooking Los Angeles just sold last March for $6,555,000. When the stunning redwood mansion was originally built, friends could cavort in the decadent playroom on an eight-foot round waterbed covered in sensual French black rabbit fur. (Nowadays, according to the website, dontfreakitsfaux.com, "the most coveted faux fur in existence" is Tissavel imported from France, so that it's possible to have a louche and luxurious bedspread without killing any sweet little bunnies.) Surrounded by wedge-shaped sofas and walls, both upholstered in plush purple velvet, the fun and frolic on the waterbed would be reflected in the many mirrors lining the room. Under the recessed triangular-shaped mirrored ceiling in the enormously sumptuous master bedroom was a 72 square foot bed covered in fur from the noses of Arctic wolves. Never has nose hair been so exquisitely desirable as in the legendary Big Dipper's mansion.

An iconic early '70s photo of that outrageous style-setter Walt Frazier, the epitome of cool on the court, shows him stretched out on the fur-covered round bed in his Manhattan penthouse. The New York Times was rather fond of this portrait of the New York Knicks guard, publishing the shot numerous times. Covered in an extravagant $3,500 mink bedspread with matching fur bolsters, the bed's manly magnificence was magnified in the mirror-lined walls and ceiling of the bedroom. "Clyde," the basketball superstar's nickname and his after-hours alter ego, was written in oversized cursive on the wall, just in case any dazzled visitors forgot his name, although that doesn't seem a likely scenario.

In Frazier's own words from his semi-autobiographical 1974 Rockin' Steady: A Guide to Basketball and Cool, "I've got a nine-foot round bed with a fitted white mink bedspread. I have a matching nine-foot round mirror on the ceiling. ... The only problem is I have this crazy fear that one day the mirror will fall down on me. Well, you have to take the bad with the good." Stick to neutral colors, cut down on the chrome and replace it with warm brass or bronze, eliminate the mirrored ceiling evocative of an hourly no-tell motel, instead of "Clyde" have decals with a poetic quote printed on the wall (www.wallwords.com), keep the faux mink bedspread concept, and you'll have the beginnings of a snuggly and sexy love nest.

Covered by a fur spread, a notorious bed once intended for the Vice President's residence would make for a meaningful, if not as macho a decorating scheme for the coming Commander in Chief's bedroom. In 1974, artist Max Ernst designed a limited edition, ravishingly surreal king-sized bed described as an "apparatus for dreaming", the complete ensemble topped with a luxurious mink fur coverlet. Vice President Nelson Rockefeller, a major modern collector, made the controversial acquisition of this highly symbolic piece of functional art, proposing to donate it to the Admiral's House, the Vice President's official residence. Shaped like a cage with bars of brass and sun and moon medallions hanging from either end, the "Bed-Cage" surely furnished an ironic, if unintentional commentary on Rockefeller's frustrations over the little that he was allowed to do as Gerald Ford's chosen second-in-chief.

If Rockefeller had actually lived on Observatory Hill rather than at one of his own homes, he could have accomplished a lot of governmental duties from the bed, which featured concealed trap doors for lamps, telephones and stereo controls. Additionally, a velvet-lined secret compartment could ostensibly serve many clandestine uses, even in post-Watergate Washington. A mirrored screen which accompanies the bed is decorated with a lithograph of Ernst's painting The Great Ignoramus, and we might add that a touch of humility is no bad thing in the President's cabinet or bedchambers.

Even the seven foot long real mink bedspread on this surreal, self-indulgent bed was designed by the artist, ensuring a Freudian fantasmagoria of strangely sensual dreams for the second in chief and his spouse. According to wife Happy Rockefeller, the spread itself was "dipped mink" and "not the best you can buy." At the time, someone even wrote a sweetly sarcastic letter to the editorial page of the Los Angeles times commenting that, "It is quite obvious that each of us has a different interpretation of the term security blanket." As furs do have resale value, they can provide some security, while faux as well as real furs may give the fetishist a strange sense of peace.

Whatever the costs, I am sure my readers will agree that in the interests of national security, in the case of a Democratic win, both the Presidential and Vice Presidential beds should have the finest faux fur blankets and spreads in the free world. To differentiate themselves, Republicans might have pelts of beasts they personally shoot. (Not that our nation wishes to compete, but the most decadent real fur bedspreads from exotic and endangered species are probably to be found on the mattresses of third-world dictators and demagogues.)

Only the most sybaritic acrylic fibers will do for the leaders of this country, as when they receive those pivotal calls at 3 a.m., the public wants them to be comfy and cozy ... or maybe not. If the bracing cold would help our elected leaders to be more alert, the White House thermostats, like those in so many houses across the nation this winter, should be lowered to 1970s levels! In the current climate, the Philadelphia Museum of Art might consider loaning their example of the Ernst bed to the White House, as the whole ensemble seems ironically indicative of the present political situation. Hairy.

Back to Contents