It's a beautiful day in New York City. It's mid-February and while snow still frosts the rooftops, it's warmed up enough that the deadly sheets of ice no longer coat the sidewalks at night. In fact, it's 40 degrees outside! It's practically summer...
In the 6 years that I've lived here, I have always been amazed at how resilient New Yorkers are when it comes to weather. It's amazing how quickly they (or we, I suppose) get used to the cold after complaining for a day or two, wrapping ourselves up beyond recognition against the chill... or how swiftly we shed those layers when the temperature rises a few degrees... or best of all, how the moment that a warm-enough spring day arrives, people flood every inch of grass of every park in the city, lounging on blankets filled with wine and weed and babies and guitars and frisbees like it's 1973.
On a day like today, you can gaze up at the blue sky with its picturesque smattering of clouds, feel the crisp wind in your face, and guarantee that there are people in this city who believe that today is the perfect weather for flip-flops. In fact, a college friend of mine used to staunchly refuse to wear anything but flip-flops until there was snow on the ground. I can't imagine how he avoided frostbite... Perhaps the excessive amount of alcohol flowing through his veins warded it off...
Anyway, I also love to see how people adapt to the weather in different ways - the moment it warms up a bit, men are out in t-shirts pretending they aren't cold. The moment the temperature drops a degree, they've have re-bundled themselves up in scarves, hats, and gloves. When it rains and it's above freezing, bald guys go without umbrellas. And when summer rolls around, the amount of skin you see can be simply fascinating... Suddenly the entire city unveils its hidden artwork in a web of tattoos and scars and cellulite and body hair.
I also love that once we are confident that spring has truly sprung, the women of New York suddenly bloom like flowers... We shed the heavy black and gray and brown and tweed and wool and suddenly drape ourselves in airy silk and cotton dresses every color of the rainbow. Even the umbrellas change from the standard black, mushrooming above our heads in bright floral prints, some with frog eyes or ladybug spots, some trimmed in lace...
Today's sunlight and relative "warmth" are a premonition that February is closer to its end than its beginning... That soon the subways will be filled with color again, once the city's residents have put away their standard black wool coats. We will begin to match the prim little flowerboxes that line the strees of the West Village... Then our colors will begin to clash like Times Square... We will transform from Brooklyn brownstones to Coney Island freak shows...
Enough with the horrible metaphors. All I have to say is, no matter the weather, I find myself consistently surprised and delighted (and at times horrified) at the ever-changing wardrobes of New York, and today has given me hope for the unveiling that lies just around the bend...
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