So, San Francisco has banned the sale of fur. The proposal sailed through the Board of Supervisors with no objections.
San Francisco is the ultra-liberal city your Trump-loving aunt Nora brings up when she wants to describe hell on earth without actually maligning Satan’s home turf. “Eat with chopsticks? Are you kidding? I’d rather move to San Francisco.”
Outlawing fur sales is pretty much spot-on brand for San Francisco, is what I’m trying to say.
To be honest, I wonder how many places in San Francisco even sell fur nowadays. I have a hunch that I could count them on two hands. Possibly one.
I also wonder how many San Franciscans have the nerve to wear fur in public. I mean, it’s not even that cold.
But for those few folks who refuse to give up their beloved pelts–and I’m sure there are a couple–the new law won’t pose much of a problem. Plenty of other places in California still sell fur coats.
In other words, San Francisco is patting itself on the back for passing a law that has limited impact on businesses and consumers. The minks and chinchillas and foxes it saves will no doubt be grateful.
If cows, pigs, chickens, and fish could shrug, I’m sure they would.