December 6, 2024 
Show coats. I mean seriously. I can’t even.
If you thought us antique riders struggled with our fancy leather boots, wait until you hear about our riding jackets. We were essentially modern-day knights in rigid woolen armor, falling just short of needing a block and tackle to hoist us onto our stalwart mounts.
It’s cute how today’s riders, and the parents thereof, are concerned with things like heatstroke and breathing. In my day, heatstroke was a given, and breathing was an option.
The show coats we have now are ridiculous, and I mean that in a good way. They are everything the coats of yesteryear were not.
They are…
- Light
- Stretchy
- Meshy
- Breathable
- Washable
- Wrinkle free
- Colorful
- And have zippers. Again, with the zippers
For research purposes, I pulled my old riding jackets from my closet and, needless to say, I tried one on. I swung my arms around a little to see what sort of range I had, and immediately, that old familiar feeling of restriction returned.
How on earth did I manage to compete in such a thing? It was clear that these jackets of mine, which have been collecting dust for 25 years, are the antithesis of what we see in 2024.
I could upcycle these coats into winter wear, I suppose, as they are made of—and I quote—“Pure Virgin Wool”, a fabric known for its warmth and durability. And while I appreciate the merits of wool, when put in the context of equestrian apparel, there is some subtext.
Said wool subtext…
- Dry clean only
- Thick
- Hot
- Expensive
- Drab
- Smelly
- Zero-way-stretch
- Wrinkle prone
- Always need repairs
Now, because these jackets were unforgiving in every conceivable way, it was a common sight to see the back of one’s jacket split wide open. Everyone laughed, of course, but it was a laughter of solidarity because it was never a matter of if it happened to you, but rather, when. If the back seam managed to hold together over the jumps, it was only because the arm seams were on the verge of breaking free.
You may have noticed a few paragraphs ago, I said, “I still have my old riding jackets.”
I wasn’t passive-aggressively letting you know I was so rich I could afford several coats. I had to own two, because one was my fat coat, and the other was my skinny coat. My eating habits could not be trusted enough to allow me to believe I could fit into only one coat per show season. Two were essential.
Our garment bags were full of handy paraphernalia, but it was the little things that fell to the bottom that were the most useful. Safety pins, for example, were used when one or more of our buttons were sprung free to places unknown.
This, meanwhile, left behind a gaping hole, alerting all those around that someone had gained weight. The pins could close the gap in the front, as well as hold the arms of your jacket on, and lessen the split in the back. This is where our ‘bling’ came from.
Hair elastics were also vitally important. If all your buttons remained but you were concerned that your tummy might spring those bad boys free with one exhale, then an elastic hooked through a buttonhole and around a button often allowed for a little heavy breathing.
1980 life hacks of the intrepid rider, follow for more.
Since our show coats only made it to the dry cleaners once a year, a lint brush, as well as a hotel-room sewing kit, were a must. If Aunt Anne, an avid seamstress, made it to the show, she’d be so appalled at the state of your jacket she’d take to fixing it in earnest. It’s a manipulation tactic that still works today.
These thick coats were, as you might well imagine, hot. And even though wool is said to be a breathable fabric, once that swath of material was destined for the life of riding apparel, all pretense of breathability was lost to the cutting room floor.
Riding togs made from this dense material invited heatstroke into your life with open arms. Bear in mind, back in the ‘woolen’ years, paramedics weren’t required for the show to get underway. If heatstroke took you down, you stuck your head in your horse’s water bucket. Drinking water was not yet a fad, and reusable water jugs that didn’t double as a gasoline-toting-Jerry-Can were still a thing of the future.
On the opposite side of things, let’s say it was a wet and rainy day at the show.
Well, that created a veritable breeding ground for the bacteria to grow, which spawned from untold amounts of sweat, turning your sodden jacket into a malodorous monstrosity. The trick to avoiding this was to remember to bring it in from the barn, a hurdle many of us couldn’t leap, and therefore competed, wafting of forgetfulness.
And if all that wasn’t enough to contend with, they were drab. Sure, you could buy them in black, blue, green, brown, or gray. But the colors were dark and flat. If you desired to stand out from the crowd, as I did, it was never going to happen.
My favorite coat was dark blue with jazzy pinstripes, but the only way you saw those alleged stripes was through a magnifying glass. A dash of jazz or not, we all looked the same from 20 feet away. (It’s true, I’m jealous.)
The show coats of today astound me and I can only hope I never hear one complaint from those of you innocently trotting around in your fabulously colored, stretchy, meshy show coats. You’ll never fully appreciate the hell and embarrassment we endured to get you to this point.
