In the few photos I’ve seen of BM, she’s always wearing a fur. As if she never allowed her picture to be taken in the summer. Wearing a fur was important to BM. It signaled her status, showed that she was someone. It’s all the more important for someone without social standing to bear status symbols. My equally poor grandfather did the same, after all. Wide-brimmed hats, shiny shoes, razor-sharp creases pressed into his pants, ironed shirts. Each time I see a picture of my grandfather or great-grandmother, I think of my own vanity and proclivity to wear what I consider to be nice clothes.
