Fashion: Singing? Hardly

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Rain spurred the ancient Greeks to sacrifice and prayer, the Indians to dance. Even today, poets find eternity in a single drop. Only women regard the heavens with a cold eye and sight catastrophe in the smallest cloud. No blessing to them, rain is a personal assault on hair and clothes, feet and face, makeup and morale, for which there is no adequate protection. Noah, at least, had an ark.

There are raincoats, of course, and the latter-day versions are a splendiferous lot. Ranging in fabric from poplin to pique to patent leather, and in price from less than $5 to well over $100, they come single-breasted, double-breasted, belted in back, on the sides, all the way around or not at all, spill off the racks in solid colors, stars, stripes, prints, polka dots and patterns. This year's favorite is flowers: from A for aster to Z for zinnia, they make a coat a serenade to spring; its wearer becomes a veritable walking garden. All make superb between-season coats, but then there is this little problem: not one is waterproof.

Defying the Storm. Few manufacturers bother to make such a claim. The majority of coats are clearly labeled "water resistant"—a phrase which, in translation, means: "This garment will fight the good fight in a storm, but only for a few minutes, after which the purchaser is on her own." Others, like the college girl's trusty trenchcoat, promise to hold out, but only until the first cleaning, when they must be reconditioned (at an average charge of $2, in addition to the cost of the cleaning itself). And many a veritable walking garden has come out of a soaking rain with a coat that looks like an empty plot.

The sad, inscrutable fact is that raincoats are made to be either stylish or serviceable, never both at once. The customer concerned with really keeping dry is stuck with rubber or plastic versions. Both would look more suitable on filling-station attendants than on girls. They are also hot.

Down the Neck. As for hats, the situation is no better. Scarves are perky as can be, but as waterproof as sponges. Hoods, helmets, bonnets and the currently chic sou'wester hats are serviceable, but leave the hair underneath a disaster area. Alternative? The nowstandard plastic rain hood, which folds away to nothing and can be carted around in the smallest purse.

But even that isn't all joy: the infinite accordion pleats form tiny canals that collect the water and channel it down the wearer's neck. There is still the handy umbrella, adequate enough for the most part, but a bother in buses, impossible to hold onto in a fair-sized wind, and, in the wrong hands (usually belonging to little old ladies with shopping bags), a dangerous weapon.