Soft Fabrics for Soft Feelings
Make it stand out
I stood in the airport like a 5’7 Sully in an ankle-grazing faux fur coat that amplified my physical size feeling terrified. I longed for the self-assuredness of John Goodman’s character in the Disney Pixar classic. The coat was advertised as camo print and there must be a product writer laughing their ass off somewhere because what habitat does lavender, Pepto-Bismol pink and aqua blend into?
Continuing this Monsters, Inc. cosplay, I felt – and probably looked – like Boo when Mike masks her in violet upholstery in a misguided attempt to pass her off as a monster. Imposter syndrome at its finest though unlike Boo, I was acutely aware of my forgery and convinced that as soon as I landed, I’d be revealed as a faker, my attempt to pass as a fashion editor foolish and ultimately futile.
My mind raced to the scene when Boo’s tucked up in Sully’s bed, a place that should feel safe but instead has been polluted by the presence – or rather, the threat of – Randall, her monster. The fear of the monster can be more debilitating than the actuality – except when there is, in fact, a monster in your closet – it’s the not knowingness that poisons the psyche. We can’t fight what we can’t see, which is why that reptilian fuck is so scary in the first place, well, that and his Scream Extractor.
___STEADY_PAYWALL___
The unseen enemy is a pretty apt analogy for anxiety, which in case you were wondering where I was going with this bizarro Monsters, Inc. symbolism, is what I was experiencing waiting for a flight to Copenhagen for Fashion Week. Hopped up on cortisol at the arse-end of January 2020, I was absorbed in anxiety of my own creation. Though blissfully unaware of lockdowns, the term “social distancing” not yet cemented in my vocabulary, my mind roiled with less tangible concerns. I waited to board and quietly freaked out. Paranoia is never a good look at an airport and knowing this only panicked me further. Wrapped in a coat with vaguely ASMR-inducing properties – the pastels! The tactility! – I mushed cold yoghurt around my gums unable to stomach anything more solid.
I’ve come to consider Randall a stand-in for anxiety – an invisible antagonist hiding in plain sight. If I’d wanted to hide there would’ve been better ways of doing it than in layers of brightly dyed synthetic fur but being cocooned felt good, insulating even, like a chickling under the warm glow of a lightbulb. My Sully coat distorted my image like a funhouse mirror, wearing it I looked larger than life while inside I was shrinking, the edges of my being frayed like the sides of a hessian sack. Outwardly at least I could be soft and whole, trimmed in plush, soft-to-touch fibres. And though I won’t concede to its claim of camouflage, it did lend disguise. I sunk into myself and let the coat do the work; providing a semblance of character when mine was under attack and a shell to protect my inner world.
When I arrived at the hotel, I did something I’ve never done when landing in a new city. I plonked onto the bed and stretched the coat out on top of me feeling its bulk weigh down on me and retreating into its soft fibres as if it were the portal to Narnia. Later, when an editor from a prominent British paper complained in a darkened taxi about a girl she’d seen “peacocking” around the city in a fuzzy “monstrosity”, I instinctively pulled the coat around me to quell my humiliation.
Imposter syndrome at its finest though unlike Boo, I was acutely aware of my forgery and convinced that as soon as I landed, I’d be revealed as a faker, my attempt to pass as a fashion editor foolish and ultimately futile.
The day after I landed, I was signed off with anxiety – I probably should’ve mentioned I’m not scared of flying, I just happened to be in an airport when the feelings that had been simmering away for months bubbled over. During my leave, a friend explained that when people are experiencing dissociation, they need something to ground them like touching something or hugging someone. My coat! It wasn’t a frivolous purchase made by a dumb girl in the throes of what my male doctor dismissively called “an episode”.
When I arrived at the hotel, I did something I’ve never done when landing in a new city. I plonked onto the bed and stretched the coat out on top of me feeling its bulk weigh down on me and retreating into its soft fibres as if it were the portal to Narnia. Later, when an editor from a prominent British paper complained in a darkened taxi about a girl she’d seen “peacocking” around the city in a fuzzy “monstrosity”, I instinctively pulled the coat around me to quell my humiliation.
The day after I landed, I was signed off with anxiety – I probably should’ve mentioned I’m not scared of flying, I just happened to be in an airport when the feelings that had been simmering away for months bubbled over. During my leave, a friend explained that when people are experiencing dissociation, they need something to ground them like touching something or hugging someone. My coat! It wasn’t a frivolous purchase made by a dumb girl in the throes of what my male doctor dismissively called “an episode”.
Words: Mischa Anouk Smith | Illustrations: Oda Johansen
