Out-furrification

Without furs;synthetic fabrics and
 big hairstlyes

With the advent of spring, hats and furs have vanished from all but the occasional babushka. They are safely stored away for the  next season. I am now outfurring the Russians with my 40s style furr hat from a charity shop. It is clearly from an era before the invention of affordable synthetic thermal clothesn so I don't feel an English twinge of guilt at wearing a small fluffy animal on my head. If some-one pats me on the heat I feel like a wood-land creature or a cat. From the way it moves on my head it really feels like my own skin and I feel tempted to purr. When the hat is not on my head - my real hair wants to capture the rare and glorious sunbeams -  it is my little pet and I occasionally stroke the tactile furr. Then I carelessly stuff it in my bag for convenience because for is not something I have ever aspired to own or adore. It needs restictching anyway.

Despite all moral considerations, aesthetically and experientally it is a dissapointment to no longer see the furrs.. They were glistening, shocking, sensual ornamentation; from an illustrated Snow Queen fairytale, inveterately Russian, nostalgic; significant, massive, ideal;savage, luxurious; flocculent. They were so evcoative as to give me  nightmare flashes, imagining the animals still alive and biting viciously, imagining them being skinned, imagining wearing one and the lynxs or other sharp-teethed creatures writing into life and savaging my hair in revenge.. However, so temptingly feminine as to make me want one.