The Official Winter Bundle-Up
Whether you prefer to dress in a uniform of black or in a bevy of color, no matter if your decorations are teeny tiny and gold or outrageous, loud and bold, no one gets to escape the inevitable, imminent and (if I’m going to be dramatic about it) frightening prospect that is THE WINTER BUNDLE.
It starts out innocently enough. You get out of bed, look out the window and think, Hmm, it looks cold outside today and I hate hypothermia, so I’d better dress appropriately for once. You reach for your insulated undershirt; it’s thin as air and immediately you question why you bought it in the first place. This air-shirt won’t do shit, you think to yourself. But hubris can be dangerous.
Next you put on a normal top. Normal in the sense that it doesn’t have any heat technology promised in its wrappings, but for the sake of drama let’s assume it’s a cotton turtleneck. Over your head it goes, and as the crown of your head peaks through the birth canal of fabric you feel the first signs of flush. Never mind that, you’re almost late for work.
So next you look around for a sweater — what sweater can I wear over a turtleneck without looking like a school teacher? – and settle on a crew neck sweatshirt in the eternal quest to emulate Phoebe Philo. Sweating yet? Carry on, solider. It’s negative something degrees outside. I just saw a bird freeze and fall off a branch, and you, my friend, are still pantsless.
On go the tights, then the jeans. A pair of socks top your feet like a reverse sundae’s cherry and then come the boots: leather casings over suffocated skin sweating tears in remembrance of summer. Tootaloo, mothafucka. Summer’s long gone.
Now the coat! Find your coat. Jam your arms through each sleeve and wriggle your hands until they pop out each side but be careful — BE CAREFUL! — don’t let your sleeves bunch up at the elbows because then you’ll have that painful gap of wrist-skin just asking to be frost bitten. This usually takes two tries for most humans. I’ll wait.
Ok it’s on. Now you’ll need a scarf, preferably the largest one you have, and wrap it once, twice, thrice around your neck so that to turn your head right or left you actually have to turn your whole body. Don’t forget the gloves. And the hat. And your keys. Okay, you can leave now.
Down the stairs you wobble — five flights if you’re lucky — and by the time you reach the bitter cold of the great outdoors and wind hits you like a refreshing blast of ice chips to the face and your cheeks are all rosy and you’re about to say something dumb like, “Winter isn’t so bad!,” I’ll bet you a million dollars plus all the air-shirts in the world that you left your cellphone upstairs and also…you have to pee.
– Amelia Diamond