alive in living color.
a song to set the scene // all good by samm henshaw
It was a checking myself out in all the store window kind of moment.
We’ve all done it before, don’t be shy.
It’s like, you’re walking down the street and you look to your right and notice damn just how good you look.
Except on this particular stroll through the Isle of Capri, it wasn’t my reflection that caught my eye, but a coat.
Arm and arm with my gem, we were headed back to our bungalow, looking at our reflection in the various designer storefronts, when I noticed this coat.
Like a beacon in the night, my eyes were drawn to the most brilliant burst of color.
Doing a cliche double take, I craned my neck and slowed my pace.
Unable to resist the temptation, I pulled my gem and we went inside.
It was a cute little boutique, the kind of store whose careful curation of clothes whispered one of a kind.
Sauntering about, I casually started going through the racks, taking my time, doing everything in my power not to show my aberrant excitement over this coat.
But man was she pretty.
When I did finally get to her, my jaw dropped. Vintage in appearance, she was everything I loved most about winter coats: long, warm, and colorful.
I thought to myself: how could such a simple garment bring about such joy in me?
While my gem coughed at the price tag behind me, I was busy looking at the size on the tag; which, unfortunately, read small.
Heart sinking, I looked through the rest of the store, as a courtesy.
But I kept getting drawn back to this coat.
Coming back to her, the shopkeeper then suggested I try it on because of course it’s the last one.
Obliging, sure I’ll try it on just for kicks, I handed my purse to my gem and slid my arms through the sleeves.
Of course it was the perfect fit.
Settling onto me like a glove, I turned around in the mirror, admiring this coat from every angle.
Looking to my gem, like a dog salivating over a treat, I smile and whisper: “I’m getting it.”
What you should know is that ironically, my gem and I had just had a conversation in which I asked him to help me watch my spending.
We hadn’t been in Italy a week and I had already spent way over my budget.
When in Rome! they say.
Or I guess I should say: “Capri!”
Wanting to cut back, I had solicited his help in helping think through my impulsive tendencies.
Unfortunately, this did not count.
This was one of a kind, remember?
But my gem, being the kind and conscientious spender, suggested we “… take a walk around the block and think about it.”
“No,” I replied with an animated look on my face.
“Let’s get some air, think things over,” he tried again, eyes darting to the shopkeeper.
“My dear, I’m getting the coat.”
“Honey, what about the price?”
“It’s 25% off!”
“How are you going to pack this thing home?”
It was at this point that I had to be firm, stand my ground.
“I know I told you to help me watch my spending, and I thank you so much for doing such a good job in doing that, but this? Is not one of those times. This is a once in a lifetime fit. I’m buying the coat. If I have to wear this on the plane, I shall. But this coat is going home with me.”
Turning back around, I excitedly nodded to the shopkeeper.
“Lo prendo!” I tell her.
(I’ll take it!)
And I took it- all the way home.
Through the rest of Capri, on to Atrani, back to Naples, across the pond through Paris, and all the way back to Alaska.
As it’s the middle of winter, and currently the most gray, dirty, and dingy landscape, I have been wearing my new garment quite often.
And she has been eliciting many positive compliments.
Everyone, some without even having to say a word, notice this coat.
It’s not your average winter parka, and she certainly doesn’t fit into the bleak landscape of winter, but that’s what makes her so special.
Alongside the storytelling of how I found this coat during my travels, I’ve also been reading this book by Ingrid Fetell Lee called: “Joyful.”
In it, I find myself struck by the comparison between color and, you guessed it, joy.
Posing the questions I have found myself so often asking, like: “Do we not wear color because we’re afraid of looking foolish? Or of being judged? Is it because we feel unworthy in a society where exuberance is indulgence, and that in order to be accepted into the “standard” we must outgrow our natural inclinations toward joy (and therefore color)?”, I find the similarity between this coat of mine and it’s relationship to joy uncanny.
The German painter Johannes Itten says that:“Color is life; for a world without color appears to us dead”, and I’m struck by that sentiment.
Why are we drawn to neutrals in our society? Gray coats, black suitcases, white cars?
Is it safety? Is there a fear of standing out, or is it a cultural preference towards a greyscale life?
I have always believed that lively, vivid, and bright colors buoy spirits.
Wearing color, to me, lifts my mood and those around me. It makes people notice, and pause.
Already standing out at 6ft2”, wearing colorful clothing is also a conversation starter, making me accessible to those I encounter.
Color is quite literally sunshine on a cloudy day and its vibrancy indicates that there is life, and nourishment here.
Though most would be inclined to slip into something dreary and dark in the dead of winter, I would encourage someone to try a little color. Who wants to mimic the landscape and drown in the dark?
(don’t get me wrong- I also love wearing black at times. It’s chic, stylish, and oh so Coco Chanel)
“There’s a surprising power of ordinary things to create extraordinary happiness”, according to Lee, and I believe in that, truly.
I mean, look at the surprising power of this coat, and the extraordinary happiness it brought me when I first laid eyes on her in that store window in Capri.
And maybe it’s not even the coat itself that people notice, but the liveliness, joy, and ebullient positive energy she evokes.
I mean, thank goodness I was checking myself out in those storefront windows. I might’ve missed out on noticing this beautiful, brilliant, colorful coat.
“Ordinary things creating extraordinary happiness.”
Isn’t that the truth.
