The Practicality of the Impractical Dresser
By the time the clock strikes midnight, over a foot of snow will populate the Chicagoland area. February is here and so are the L.L. Bean printed footsteps on the sidewalks. The snowplows and shovels create a melody to be heard all across the city. The L train becomes another instrument to this symphonic gloom that is February in Chicago.
If you live in Chicago you’re no stranger to acclimating to the winter. You probably own several base layers, boots of all shapes and sizes, puffer jackets, hats, gloves, scarfs, pepper spray, horse tranquilizers, I digress. What I mean is, you come prepared, in a sort of conventional, trend refuting kind of way. Nobody cares to be in Vogue here, because if we were to give even one ounce of a shit, we’d end up in Rush hospital getting our fingers amputated from the frost.
While the Scandinavians can tie together an immaculate outfit in little to no daylight and freezing temperatures, Chicagoans have other ideas, and they don’t think about Scandinavians either, or anybody north, east, south or west of city limits.
I’m a Chicago guy. Really, I’m a chic-AH-go guy. I let it be known wherever I go. I recall one time I was in New York City in December, and I was with some people from California who put a large emphasis on how freezing it was. It wasn’t freezing, it was 35 degrees! I said something along the lines of, “I’ve got ice in my veins, I’m a Chicago guy!” Us and our pride…
I wanted to let you know that because while I live and have an affinity for this city, I don’t care for the practicality of winter dressing. I wear sneakers in winter, sometimes loafers even. The amount of socks I’ve had to throw in the trash is insurmountable. I borrow gloves from my roommate. I own one knit hat, which I found in a restaurant (and washed of course). I have an Arc’teryx puffer jacket, not for the weather, but because it’s Arc’teryx.
I don’t dress for function, I dress for me and all my dysfunction. There is practicality in that. It wouldn’t be practical for me to go against my own set of style standards. I very well may end up in Rush hospital with frostbite, but I’d much rather get amputated in 90’s Armani than Canada Goose.