I should add there is a rather superficial reason why I hate winter. Despite what you may see portrayed on the pages of Harper's Bazaar, REAL winter fashion is not particularly appealing. In this I mean serious winter fashion. No person in their right mind is going to gallivant around in tights, a mini skirt and a fur shrug. That's practically inviting hypothermia. Real winter fashion is functional and life saving and in truth, rather fucking unattractive. Take a step into my world. Enter the subway when it's 30 degrees outside, 18 degrees with wind chill. The attending participants on my subway car are wearing Michelin Man down jackets, thick scarves, Elmer Fudd hats with askew fur adorned ear flaps, heavy Northern Face snow boots, complexions that haven't seen the sun in months and dull, palid expressions. Yeah, sell that look to Anna Wintour.
As a transplant, I must echo that I appreciate the drama of the seasons. Snow is still something of a miracle to me. But I'll also readily admit that I appreciate the seasons that ensure my maintenance program is consistent (read: pedicures, leg shaving and waxing). It becomes very simple during this harsh time of year to neglect these aspects. And don't even get me started on the desire to have some contrasting color in my neon white skin tone. Besides this, I like wearing shoes and clothing that actually expose some extremities and is reduced to a single layer.
I'll say it again. Bring on the goddamn Spring.
2 comments:
When Declan was small(er) he told me that when the leaves changed colors they were actually "putting on their jammies". When the leaves fell off, and it was plain, blank truncks and branches he said the trees were sleeping. In spring when the wind blows, he says the trees are dancing. When the leaves appear--the trees are awake and stretching....I'm with you--everybody up now--if I have to be, so do you!
Hallelujah, sister.
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