The quest to purchase a winter coat began months ago. Even before the first chilly breeze hit New York, I was asking friends about what kind of coat they had, trying to determine what I needed to survive my first northern winter. My quest became my dad's mission - he was set on finding me the warmest, most water repellant, biggest-hooded, heaviest down-filled, thickest fur-trimmed, double zippered, extra buttoned, EVERYTHING coat out there. I found a few coats I liked; they weren't so big and bulky, and I thought they fit the warm/water resistent requirements. But my dad's mission had a goal - a coat that was proven to conquer cold weather - and the coats I had chosen just didn't measure up.
He became focused on the "Ultrawarm, Three-Quarter Length" coat from L.L. Bean whose list of warmness features read like Tiger Woods' trophy list - in other words, this coat was the master of cold weather. My attempts at finding a cute warm coat were exhausted, and nothing I could find would ever measure up to the all-around perfection of the Ultrawarm from L.L. Bean anyway.
By mid-December, I agreed to let Daddy order it, "Just get it in black, okay?" Color was the only control I still had in the coat features discussion. And then bad news...very bad news. The coat was SOLD OUT in black. "How about periwinkle or red raspberry?" Daddy asks. "I would rather freeze in my black wool coat than walk the streets of New York City in PERIWINKLE!!" I screamed into the phone. What to do now?? Daddy settling for any other coat was like a little kid wanting to go to Disneyworld but settling for Six Flags.
We soon agreed on the Chalet Long Down Coat from Land's End - the company endorses it with "we doubt you'll be warmer in anything else this winter!" We got it in black, the coat arrived, I tried it on, it was big, it was ugly, but it was warm.
So warm, in fact, that the description Julie gave it has stuck: while modeling the coat for my family at Christmas, I pointed out how it's so big around it really doesn't touch me anywhere - it just keeps a perfect cylindar shape - and when I flip the hood up, I pretty much disappear except for my face and my legs below the knees. Julie exclaimed, "She looks like a stovepipe!"
With horror and laughter I realized I really do, but there's nothing like warming up inside my little stovepipe when the freezing cold wind whips around the buildings.
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