Sweater Weather For the Win

Fall in the city is a magical time, and I’ll fight anyone who disagrees with me.

I don’t have these kinds of views, but still…

When people talk about loving seasons, they’re referring to fall. I have no empirical data to back up this bold statement. However, I can use big words like “however” and say things like, “Come on, you know I’m right.” 

Maybe I’m making assumptions, but I choose to believe that I’m a scientist with a hypothesis, who’s drawn a conclusion and is now sharing the results. Sure I left out the step of running a controlled test. Some might call that step “critical,” but I’m a Leo, and I pride myself on being a “bigger picture” thinker. 

Stay with me here.

I can’t think of a single person who lives in a city that loves the dog days of summer. What with the sun beating down on the asphalt and the sweaty subway rides. If anyone ever wanted to torture me they can forget the waterboarding. All they have to do is put a guy in a short-sleeved shirt close to me on the subway. So close that his arm hairs touch my naked flesh, and I’ll tell you anything you want to hear. 

My insides turned just thinking about that. 

This has been me, many, many, many times.

In summer, the urine aroma wafts up from the sidewalks. The humidity does things to my hair that neither product nor magic can control. And my apartment turns into a heat box so hot I’m sure we could make pottery. Summer does get one point for the exodus of people on vacation. I love an empty city where reservations are not needed and parks are empty of bros playing ultimate frisbee.

Winter isn’t much better. Sure the first few hours of a snowstorm are so beautiful they’re almost mystical. The snow blankets the streets creating an eerie, but peaceful quiet. The parks are picturesque with dogs clomping through the snow, and off in the distance you can see that one 60-year-old lady who owns cross-country skis and she is going to use them goddamit! But 24 hours later, the snow turned to a gray, heavy slop, and the plows buried your car into that parking spot you were psyched to have found two days ago. The biting winds whip between Manhattan buildings at a speed that feels like you’re standing on a tundra. Oh, and my apartment radiators kick out steam at a rate that is both way too much and not at all enough. That same steam heat removes every bit of moisture from my body making me resemble that dried head in Beetlejuice.

This is me, taken in early July.

I do love the skiing and occasional sledding, but the R.O.I ain’t there, in my opinion. 

That brings me to spring. I get it. Flowers. The promise of warmer weather. Shorts. But in my house, spring also brings arguments over whether a 60-degree spring day is the same as a summer or fall 60. We all end up sweating in puffer jackets or freezing in sweatshirts. Oh, and it rains for 37 days straight. 

But fall... 

You get the beauty of the green leaves changing, creating a kaleidoscope of colors in a burnt orange pallet. It’s impossible to be unhappy with burnt oranges. Someone invented pumpkin spice and apparently, it goes with everything. Pumpkin spice also somehow manages to pull off that elusive savory-sweet combo. I’m not mad at pumpkin spice one bit. There are haunted hay rides. Scary movies. There’s a whole holiday where people hand out candy. For free. There are football games to bring family and friends together or light up rivalries creating connection and competition. I don’t particularly give two poops about football, but I’ll tailgate the crap outta your team while playing corn hole, and grilling in the parking lot like “Why don’t we grill in parking lots all the time?” 

Fall is cold, but not too cold. It’s just cold enough that if someone forces you to leave the house you’re not going to freeze off your nether regions, but it’s cold enough that you should feel no guilt if you don’t want to exercise, do chores, grocery shop, or leave the house for any reason at all for an entire weekend. 

Fall is that time for rebirth, a redo, starting over. Nothing like a good fall project to make you feel like all the weight you put on during your summer vacation season doesn’t count. 

Fall is the beginning of a warm cocktail season. Hot toddies? Yes, please. 

Fall is flannel, vests, and the time to wear those pants that don’t go all the way down to your ankles. Vests and those pants only have a one to two-month window of wearability, and you usually forget you own them, but the point is you could wear them if you wanted to.

So what I’m saying is I don’t think I need to be a scientist to prove my point; fall is where it’s at. 

Let’s all grab a hot toddy, put on a flannel, and kick some leaves. 

Ahhhhh.