The well-dressed lady turned the fur collar over in her hands and fixed me with a withering stare. ‘Is this real fur?’ I was helping out in my friend’s clothes shop, a fashionable haunt in a chichi area of south-west London. ‘Yes,’ I said, bracing myself. She stroked the luxuriant fur, then asked, ‘What is it?’
‘Fox?’ I said, making the answer a question, as you do when you are expecting protest.
‘Where did the fox come from?’
This was too much. I hadn’t the foggiest. So I fixed her with a meaningful gaze and said: ‘Northcote Road. It was going through the bins.’
She didn’t laugh. Was she going to rant at me about animal rights? No, she just nodded, and slapped the collar down on the counter to pay.
Listen to Camilla Swift and PETA’s Kirsty Henderson debating ‘ethical fur’ on the Spectator podcast:
After that I began to notice that many of my metropolitan friends are suddenly, un-ashamedly sporting fur.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in