When Someone Tells You a Coat is “Devil Wears Prada Fabulous”, You Must Buy It. It’s the Law.

I believe there are four things that every single girl needs to survive in what can be a dangerous, cold world. In fact, I will call it the “Single Girl Tool Kit”. It includes the following: a good trench coat, big sunglasses, a black dress you feel good in, and The Big Chill soundtrack. I own all of them, and I think if you have any of the above, you can get through just about any situation.

This morning, being the third day of Fall and with a slight chill in the air, I finally had an excuse to bring out my especially fabulous trench coat for the first time since May. Coincidentally, I also happened to have on my fail proof black dress and sunglasses. It was as if the matron saints of fashion, Audrey, Jackie, and Grace, were all smiling down upon me. I felt so good, I practically skipped the whole way into work.

Now I have two great loves in my life: politics and fashion. I can describe how good or bad my life was at any point in time, just by telling you what I was wearing. For instance, this past New Years Eve, my best gal friend and I did our annual “highs and lows of the year” discussion on the New York subway en route to a New Years Eve party. I won’t lie, 2007 started out being a terrible year, and I illustrated this by saying, “This time last year, I was sitting in Des Moines, Iowa wearing size 10 Ann Taylor jeans.” My friend looked at me in shock, “No!” “Yes.” However, as I was was saying this, I was wearing a size 4 DVF top and Armani black label pants I scored at Filene’s for $44 – the year had indeed improved. Do you see my point? Thus the tale of the trench coat has a special place in my heart.

Around the beginning of the year, I got dumped. Duuuuumped. I won’t even pretend and say that it was mutual because a) I hate it when girls do that and b) because it was not. I have experienced enough loss in my life that being dumped doesn’t make me call in sick to work so I can wallow in my misery while chain smoking and listening to Phil Collins. (True Story – a friend of a friend did that. She has recovered, and her friends now say to her on especially happy days, “Hey, Take a Look at You Now, Elaine!”) No, I power through, tell everyone who will listen the whole elaborate melodrama (of course I make it a good story), and just kind of feel sad. The weekend after it happened, my Mom kept calling to check on me, “You doing okay?” Sigh. “No, still dumped.” A few hours later. “Any better?” “Nope.” “Well, you know it’s Friends and Family Weekend at Saks – additional 25% off everything.” Sweet Jesus, relief!

Here’s the thing, I have a nasty shopping habit, and I will be the first to admit I live beyond my means. I do what I can – I take my lunch to work, I don’t own a car, I only take cabs when I absolutely have to, however, I still live in a constant state of fear that Suze Orman is going haul me on Oprah, share my financials for all the world to see, and make me live with a 45 year old roommate out in Rockville, Maryland. My only shopping would be at Ross For Less, on a “You’ve Been Good” day for the “Where are They Now?” episode. I have psychoanalyzed myself enough to know that in the way I used to use food for comfort (hello fat pants), I now have taken to using retail therapy in its place. At least I’ll look good homeless.

While I received the Friends and Family Saks notice in the mail, now that my Mom mentioned it again to me, I took that as permission to go over there “just to look”, you know, just to get out of the house and amongst the living, not to buy anything. This is like an alcoholic going by the liquor store “just to look” and buying 10 bottles of booze “just to have around the house”. We’re talking walking train wreck about to happen.

I walk over to Saks to see my “friends” that is, the salespeople who know me. I use the terms friends loosely, only because let’s be honest, they like me in the same sense that, you know, a stripper really liked the guy she was giving a lap dance. They like you for the time being. (That said, I knew I had a shopping problem when one day I went over to Saks to return something, and someone knew my name on every floor. That’s when I moved.) After not finding anything in the contemporary section, I made my way up to the top floor. There, I found it. The trench coat. Charles Nolan. Already On Sale. An additional 25% off.

I’ll admit I thought it looked alright, but when I walked out of the dressing room, the saleswoman (who is now my girl, Vanessa) gasped. “Oh my God! That is just Devil Wears Prada fabulous!” Well, okay, if that’s how you really feel. Sold. I couldn’t get my Saks card out fast enough. I was still a little unsure after I got home. Do I really need this? I already know I can’t afford it. I tried it on for my roommate over my pajamas. (Remember, I was just dumped. There would be no going out, especially after this purchase. Time for the Depression Era diet.) Another gasp. Actually, I’ll be honest, a jaw drop. (Because I cause jaw drops all the time, that’s how I roll.) Okay, if this is the second time a person has had this reaction, I think its a keeper.

Since the trench coat’s debut, it is one of the few pieces in my closet, that I, without fail, always get compliments on, and not just, “Oh, that’s cute.” but “Where did you find that?! I love it!” – maybe the best thing you can hear after getting dumped. While I’m sure plenty of financial analysts would berate me for the purchase, I will say I feel prettier, skinnier, and just plain fabulous wearing it every single time I take it off the hanger, a feeling no stupid boy can take away.

I am a big believer in the fact that everything happens for a reason. I often trace back my steps in life to see how the journey I have traveled over the past couple of years all came together. If I hadn’t gone to this college, I wouldn’t have taken this internship which led me DC, to this job, which introduced me to this person who changed my life, etc etc. However, in this case, if I had not met this boy, and if he had not dumped me (duuuuuumped), then I would never have found the trench coat or felt so good wearing it. Every time I get a compliment, I think, and sometimes say out loud, “Thanks, Brian!” Once someone said, “Oh did he buy it for you?” “Oh no, he just led me to buy it.”