Ode to the In-Between Coat

As the temperature drops and the city becomes a blur of puffers and peacoats, I must put away my beloved collection of in-between coats. By my definition, an in-between coat is a lightweight piece of outerwear made of a gorgeous textile, handmade or vintage or both, usually procured in a foreign city in a fanciful mood.

This is the kind of coat of which my mother would not approve. More than likely, it does not have a hood, and the material is not waterproof. If there are buttons or zippers, they are finicky and mainly decorative. This kind of coat has little practical value, though it costs as much, if not more, than a seasonally appropriate coat. Its purpose is less to protect from the elements, and more to adorn and inspire.

Such coats can only be worn on about ten days in a calendar year, if that, in either May or September. The weather must be neither too warm nor too cold, with no chance of rain and barely a light wind. Not only must the external conditions be ideal, the outfit beneath must be thin enough to ensure the coat will not be removed before she’s had her moment. Footwear must strike the ideal balance, coordinating but not competing for attention. All the stars must align for the in-between coat to make an appearance.

I did not set out to begin a collection of in-between coats. The truth is that each one found me.

Take my latest addition - a dazzling teal velvet duster woven with large blue and red koi fish I found in Istanbul this past summer. The funny thing is that I wasn’t even supposed to be in Istanbul. My family and I had spent two weeks in Uganda, and our return flight to the US was canceled. We were only meant to connect in Turkey, but further delays led to another missed flight. We spent twenty four hours in the country - just long enough for me to wander into a shop and discover another irresistible in-between coat.

I did manage to wear it once in early fall, styled over a linen shift dress. In its long, sumptuous folds, I felt regal and worldly. The velvet pile was more lightweight than it looked, with a subtle, silken luster. Throughout the day, I received compliments and questions from strangers and coworkers. The good thing about living in New York City is that my Turkish duster was definitely not the craziest thing happening that day.

I must confess that this was just one of two coats that found me in Istanbul. The other is an unusual patchwork of ikat and solid stripes in ivory, charcoal and crimson. This coat was hanging on the mannequin in the shop window; it was the piece that drew me and my family in.

Share

As I push these coats to the back of my closet until next spring, each one conjures a memory. The wool plaid peacoat I bought at a thrift store in the Marais in Paris in 2022, clearly made in a bygone era but remarkably well kept. The embroidered denim bomber jacket I found in Guatemala, where I attended a friend’s wedding in 2019. Then there is the one-of-a-kind, reversible jacket made from antique Indian textiles from Namai, purchased with my younger sister’s encouragement at Renegade Craft Fair.

I will especially miss the vermillion, raw-edged By Whalid coat I found in a flea market in Chelsea and recently wore on a week-long trip to Italy. If it had rained even once, the delicate, hand-embroidered fabric would probably have left me in a dripping red puddle. Fortunately, the gods blessed us with crisp, cool weather, well suited to my risky choice.

My obsession with textiles began with my mother’s Indian saris. The sumptuous silks and iridescent shades spoke of a place we were far away from, but still belonged to. Twenty years into my design career, textiles are still the way that I understand the world. My eclectic collection of in-between coats may not be useful in a storm, but they connect me to makers, memories and stories.

Thank you for reading!