Fashioning the Body: Versions of the Citizen, the Self, and the Subject

"The Chick Magnet"

The Leather Jacket was always a gift, in more ways than one. It is possible none of its wearers ever paid for it, but its value never needed to be calculated in money. When my dad was a teenager, his favorite uncle, Joe, was a Boston police officer. The mounted (horseback) police had these special jackets, and Joe somehow managed to get one for his nephew. The Leather Jacket, thick and heavy, was more than just warm. It was a Chick Magnet. For this reason, it remained with my dad (who became a police officer himself) decades after he could no longer zip it over his coffee-and-donut belly. It hung lonely in his closet, patiently waiting to exercise its powers. Finally I, his fourteen-year old daughter, came across it. It was so heavy I sank into the carpet. The Leather Jacket and I fell in love. No matter how many times I stole it, it always mysteriously reappeared in my dad's closet the following day. Finally, three years after I first found the Jacke, my stepmom made my dad give it to me. Sulkily he handed it over. It became my armor; nothing could penetrate it. I discovered its Chick Magnet properties. I had grown by then to the same height as my dad, and it fit me perfectly. Though it is survived by other jackets, none will replace The Leather Jacket.