Don't You Love My Fur? Be Cool—It's Faux Animal Corpse Skinnings
We’re on our way to another formal event, and I couldn’t be happier about it. Nothing makes me feel better than bedecking myself in sartorial opulence. There is a certain joy that comes from wearing an outfit that costs more than a car. Well, not my car, but you understand my point.
Of course, that joy disappears faster than Burberry’s fall collection of handbags when others at these events are dressed as finely as me. This is why I love the winter galas, as I am able to stand apart by adorning my outfit with yards and yards of gorgeous fur.
Wait—let me correct myself before you think badly of me. It’s faux fur.
That’s right, no animals were hurt in any way. I just love celebrating the unbearable pain and suffering that the animals go through for others who wear real furs. That’s the kind of person I am.
Obviously in supporting fur as a fashion statement and a sign of sumptuous living, I promote an industry that abuses, tortures, and slaughters millions of animals each year for the sake of looking wealthy. Many of these miserable beings live their horrible lives on farms, crammed into impossibly small cages and malnourished for months before being gassed, strangled, electrocuted, or drowned. And those are the lucky ones—many are skinned alive! Animals in the wild, meanwhile, are trapped by all sorts of cruel devices, including steel-jaw leghold traps, body-gripping traps, and wire neck snares, where they wait for days in agony before being killed. And you’re probably thinking only of the animals with famous fur, right? Well, there is also no reliable way to confirm that the fur is indeed from a fox or mink rather than, say, dogs and cats.
But they are not being killed for my apparel, so it’s okay. I only support it whole-heartedly. It’s not like there’s a sign on my full-length mink that says “fake.” That would ruin it! No, by wearing something that looks like a real fur, I propagate a cultural acceptance for a practice that is unquestionably impossible to justify in a modern age. Wearing a faux fur is like smoking fake cigarettes in front of kids, but not telling them they’re fake. They’ll be inspired to go smoke actual cigarettes! Isn’t that hilarious?
Faux fur is becoming passé, though. Every ordinary millionaire is doing it. I need something new. I think I may invest in a stole of human skin and hair. What? No, of course it’s not real—I’m not a psychopath. It’s artificial skin and hair. I think if I stick with this idea, it may catch on. I can then branch out into more extreme human dismemberment fashions. Everyone will look my way if I walk into the ball with a detached human arm draped upon my shoulders. They’ll call me monster, villain, or animal, and I’ll laugh as I tell them, “no you sillies, it’s faux.” Then we’ll all laugh together as they learn to understand that there’s really no difference at all between fake fur and fake human parts.
We’ve arrived. Be a dear and help me out of my real-looking pretend carcass, won’t you?