In my hometown of Tucson, Arizona, we have two kinds of weather: refreshingly brisk and unbearably hot. But still, we break out the winter coats when it drops below 60.
At home, I’m considered hardy. My wardrobe remains consistent regardless of the weather. So much so that for an entire year I did not once wear pants to school. Leggings, yes. Shorts, why not? Skirts…Is there anything else in life?
So when friends at home heard I was venturing north for college, they scoffed and assumed I would learn my lesson and change my ways. I assumed the same. I fretted for a semester over how I would survive the inhospitable northern winter. I wore a dress with no tights one blustery November day, and my classmates looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. I went home for winter break thinking I’d have to make the change I’d been dreading when I came back in January.
Not so much. The past week has been a learning process in how to adjust my cardigan-and-high- waisted-skirt-filled closet to lows of -4 degrees and five-foot snowdrifts.
My first step was to change my footwear. After a fall semester wearing only ballet flats, I went home and found a pair of snow boots in my size at a second-hand store. Those boots have changed walking for me. Where I used to mince, now I proudly stomp. Where my soles used to make a prissy clatter going up the stairs of J. Walter Wilson, now they sound out the satisfying clomp of a woman on a mission.
With feet successfully shod, I learned to layer. On warmer days, leggings under skirts will suffice. For particularly cold spells, I don an extra layer of wool tights. On top, it’s my navy pea coat and a sweatshirt or fleece over my beloved but flimsy sweaters.
And so, as long as I haven’t somehow jinxed myself, I am set for the winter. I feel a sense of accomplishment, but also like I’m somehow cheating the system. Most of all, I feel like if I could move to a climate 50 degrees colder than home and still keep my sense of style, what can’t I achieve?