I’m Conjuring the Runway in My Pajamas to Ward off Winter Insanity
What I’m wearing in this fuckass weather
100% of proceeds from paid upgrades through this letter will be donated to Community Aid Network Minnesota.
I am not a winter person. Deep down I truly believe that everyone who claims to love this weather must be lying, deluding themselves, or afflicted with a small tumor pressing on the part of the brain that controls reasoning. They say they hate summer in the same way, I say we must be different species.
Many of these people are friends whom I love, and I want so badly to have that benign little tumor they do and enjoy this weather. So I don’t argue with them about my theory. I sit alone on my iceberg awaiting the warmth of spring.
Winter survival is about a proper dress code: warm enough but also not ugly. If I can’t straddle that delicate line, I’ll go insane. The coffee stained knee-length puffer I’m desperately avoiding is my sleep paralysis demon: I keep waking up in the middle of the night to see it standing upright at the foot of my bed, glaring at me through snap button eyes.
I’ve succumb to the puffer only a handful of times so far (*let’s not talk about the post-snow storm outerwear decisions I’ve made this week), and I’m doing my best to stay strong. This is how I’m fending off seasonal insanity, with a skirt that pissed off my brother, winter shoes that don’t make me want to die, my Miu Miu-esque home uniform, and more.
I’m ditching the puffer for a 1950s leopard coat.
This coat was the last secondhand purchase I made in 2025, thanks to some gentle bullying from the Yeehawt chat. It was waiting for me in an Arizona antique mall — a leopard glass slipper holding out for a short-armed Cinderella. I feel like I need a cigarette in my hand when I wear this coat. I think a lot of the best clothes make you feel that way.
Thrown over: Wranglers + Damson Madder polka dot cardigan + wool scarf + Baggu crossbody + wool beret + Converse high-top Chuck 70s
I’m channeling my inner Sk8er Boi in layered tees.
I ate a life-changing dessert in this outfit: a coconut and rice cream sundae from a moody Thai spot in Flatiron. The pre-snow storm crowd was ordering with abandon, ready for the world to end after one last Pad See Ew. Double dates and tiny martinis at every table.
It was ice cream you could chew through, rice granules sticking to my teeth in between bites. And it didn’t really melt either — it sat obediently in the glass dish as I dipped a tiny spoon in over and over and over again. I’d much prefer if all the snow on the ground was made of rice cream scoops instead.
Comprised of: vintage Maine tee + LA Apparel boat neck tee + old grey slacks + silver disc necklace + vintage cow hide belt + Loeffler Randall black leather boots