The velvet fog

All of my winter coats were lost in the Best Cleaners Bellyup Fleecing Scheme over the summer, when the laundromat storing them closed its doors and vanished without a trace, so I need to do some replacement shopping. It occurs to me that this is a prime opportunity to update my sartorial "style," but thus far my online browsing has only proven there's a lot of velvet out there, like this "plush private" number from Anthropologie. Now I'm not opposed to velvet per se, as who wouldn't want to look like an 18th century Romantic poet or a male lead character in a Noël Coward drawing room comedy circa 1939? I can't imagine a greater conversation piece in which to navigate my new imaginary fox-hunting lifestyle.

However. During my years in textbook publishing, I worked for a while with a woman named Peace, who kept a row of velvet pantsuits stashed away in the front hall closet at the office, like Clark Kent. Her superpowers were managing index editors and suddenly materializing in your cubicle without a sound, which I suppose is the sort of thing head-to-toe velvet makes possible. (This also makes it the polar opposite of velvet's trashy cousin, corduroy.) Nobody ever explained why she got to keep her costumes at the office, which at the time was the headquarters of a fairly major operation, or when or how Regular Peace changed into Super Peace. That was part of her mystery. She was about a million years old and looked like one of those little shrunken apple ladies and sometimes she rode a bike to work, although it's possible I'm conflating two or three separate people here. I think she liked candy.

Anyway, that's Peace. What are your thoughts on velvet?