I once had the most beautiful coat. I spied it in a charity shop & I guess that the fact it had been used, belonged to someone else, and had been symbolically passed on for someone else’s pleasure really appealed to me.
I don’t mind other people’s cast offs.
Anyway, the coat seemed beautiful to me & looked like it still had the capacity to be worn even though it had seen plenty of wear & had obviously been loved at some point in its life cycle. It seemed like it had something more to give. I don’t think it had found its perfect fit on its life journey to date.
But it fitted me perfectly when I tried it on, so much so that I couldn’t believe it. It was so soft, and felt so strong, its fabric holding me tightly. It wasn’t my usual look. But I knew I had to take it home with me.
I spent many years with the coat of many colours. I guess as expected, as with all things that go through a repetitive cycle, its colour started to fade, and it didn’t fit as well as it once had. I still pulled it on every now & again to feel its warmth against my skin. To feel secure. To remember how I loved it when I first set eyes on it, remembering how the colour blinded me & opened up lots of possibilities and opportunities as I slipped my arms into it and felt it embrace my shoulders.
I did what I could to breathe life into its fading fabric. I dyed it to reinvigorate the colour, I replaced the buttons, I put patches on the elbows to cover the threadbare material. I lovingly and painstakingly restored it over and over to give it extra life. Isn’t it amazing what we do & what lengths we go to in order to keep hold of things that have historical & emotional value to us, even when we know we’ve outgrown them.
Sometimes when things got weathered, my coat (which I always thought of as being on loan) let me down. It let the wind and rain in from time to time & left me soaked & disappointed that it wasn’t 100% weather proof. But I never regretted bringing it home with me. I dried it out and always revived it because I knew it belonged with me even though it wasn’t here to stay. It wasn’t a forever coat. It had been owned by someone else for years, and every now & then I glimpsed historically someone else wearing it proudly, that’s why the sleeves were a little bit long, and the collar a bit frayed. I could almost smell and sense its other life. I wondered why they had given it so easily away, but maybe they just stopped noticing it. I’m not sure it was looked after very well, but whoever had it first did just enough to keep it intact. As usual, I went over and above to keep its shape and contours but as the years flew by, the coat of many colours was worn less and less.
Eventually, I put it away, folded gently and from time to time I touched it lovingly, not wanting to part with it.
Even though it was no longer part of my wardrobe or make-up, whenever I slid the drawer open, I felt its presence. It was nice to take it out every now and then, to brush my fingertips across its faded fibres, to bring it close to my face to smell its familiarity, to slip into its arms every now and then with eyes closed, remembering how it used to fit so perfectly.
Recycling is an amazing thing. One day, the coat of many colours will make another journey to a different charity shop. I, for one, can’t bear to unpick its stitching, to un-piece it bit by bit to create a new pattern. For now and probably for the rest of my days, it will be my comfort blanket.
But one day I’m certain it will be re-fashioned into something as spectacular as it once was and someone more comfortable and more familiar will slip into it and feel the spirit and strength of all it carried and protected over the years – keeping the cold and rain out, keeping the warmth and comfort in. Its colours will shine bright again.
And it will find its perfect fit at last. Because when you love an enduring piece, it will always come back into fashion and maybe that’s the art of recycling something old into something new.
Mags Winthrop Blog 