There is something I pull out of my closet every winter with a smile. And I wear it with pride. It’s my leather bomber jacket. Actually, it’s not really my jacket. It’s an ex-boyfriend’s.
I didn’t take it from him. He gave it to me. He’d moved to Boston where the jacket wasn’t warm enough. It’s perfect for Southern winters.
His Zippo is still in the right-hand flap pocket. He used it to light cigarettes during my trip to visit him in Beantown. We were both in college and had both picked up vices. His was smoking. Mine was drinking. Eventually, we’d both cheat on one another, but that’s not what this is about.
There’s something wonderful about putting on a piece of clothing that belonged to someone you once loved. You may be a totally different person now, but wearing a lover’s jacket is an embrace from a memory. You once were someone else and you were in love. The positive attachments to the look, the smell, the feel of his jacket erase all painful remnants of our relationship, at least for a moment.
I took an inventory of ex-lovers’ trophies that I’ve accumulated over the years and found myself swept away by the memories of this one’s strong arms, that one’s poetry, the kisses, the passion….
There’s one rule I always follow in my collecting: don’t tell a new love that you’re wearing clothes that belonged to an old love. That’s just asking for trouble. He says, “Cool jacket,” and you smile, knowing he’s not the only one who thought that.
And when he tells you that you look beautiful in his flannel pajamas, smile again, knowing your collection is about to grow once more.