really poor selection and not really sure i am pretty sure this listing has a bunch of false or…read moreincorrect information. Would not recommend using this listing.

Furs nowadays belong in old Hollywood movies (along with cigarettes and gangsters), thrift stores…read moreand also in this super over-priced store on Detroit road. The Russian in me, passing by after YMCA work out, couldn't resist the combination of "80% off" and "fine furs" sign and decided to check the store out. We, Russians, are still stuck in 1960's, in that barberic awe of good furs combined with good sales. Before you judge, check out the climate of the Siberia. The store seemed swell with that distinct intoxicating smell of good leather, plush luxirious red velvet chairs and dim merciful lighting generously pouring down from crystal chandeliers onto all kinds of fur. I will be damned if that looked anything like a shameless cemetery of the killed and skinned animals on display. No protesters of animal right with ketchup bottles in sight either. Suddenly Marilyn in me woke up and demanded to try on a beautiful white fox coat. How could I say no to her? The salesman pulled me out of my "diva in fur" moment immediately and asked if I am interested in anything particular. He also belonged in the last century: fast, rude and judgemental, sizing up a disheveled girl in $50 Calvin Klein puffer. He was speaking with some kind of a fake Italian accent like an extra on a set of mafia movie. This is when I woke up and looked at the prices: the cheapest mink coat, thinning in some places, that did not even look all that "hollywood" to me, was whooping $8000. That was after 80% off? Oh God how much was the original? The price of a BMW? I inquired the sales person about the original price and he walked away while the very nervous lady stepped in to his rescue to talk to me as if I was this difficult teenager asking the priest about contraception. " Yes this is the price but we can give you a great deal."The thought of bargaining in a store with the roof, walls and a zip code, not even a market, made me sick to my stomach. Though the offer made me happy to know that they finally realized that we all live in the country of equal rights and credit cards. So I gave in and bought a coat... Because we women do not just buy nice things, we buy illusion of nicer life...And every bit of me wanted the fiery red winter coat with fox fur and black bottons ...for only $200 ( which was also that generous 80% from an imaginary grand). "It's a nice luxurious fox fur! Such a bargain!" - the sales person was telling me eager to see me finally leave the store. Few days later I modeled my new coat in front of my very own Kennedy expecting the gentle reproach on being wasteful with money and round of applause for being "oh so stunning" in it. Instead I heard: " Sweetie, the label here says the fur is racoon. " " What??" Suddenly I felt like this deflated red balloon in a fur of an animal that eats garbage. But it was right there, on the label, in both English and ironiclally Russian. And this is when one of the black buttons fell off, out of nowhere, making my racoon coat looking somewhat teethless, adding an insult to the injury. The very next day I was back in the store demanding justice. "Oh it's a very special special foreign racoon,"- told me the racoon specialist at the store, -"It lives in Norway and eats only grass and flowers. And we will fix your button in about..two weeks." And then the sweaty Italian handed me the receipt that looked just as credible as Subway napkin I just used to wipe my tears. I got my coat back in a week and still love it with that special kind of love mother has for her faulty child. I wear it with pride and shamlessly lie that fur is a fox...the special domesticated kind that eats your unfinished sandwich and makes babies on your roof. And if you, my beloved audience, dare to tell anyone the truth, my Kennedy will kill you dead. I promise.