The Wind Beneath My Whines

Trench Coat (H&M, similar here) Sweater (Zara - old, similar here and here), Jeans (J.Crew - self-cut because they were too damn long and they look better this way, similar here), Sneakers (Converse - sold basically everywhere since basically the beginning of time), Ring (Blanca Monros Gomez via Of a Kind) 

We were getting pretty cocky there with that seemingly steadfast warm weather (or at least I was, with my bare legs and my silky tank tops that seemed to evaporate at even the slightest of touches), but this is still San Francisco after all, and this city is nothing if not temperamental, drought and all. What's a jaunt home from a long day at work without the sour face sensation of stinging gales slapping your body around to remind you that you're aliiiiiiiiiiive (!!) and that walking is hard? I ASK YOU.

Between the scores of plebs that have permanently lost their ability (did they ever have it to begin with?????? I wonder..) to walk in a straight line at a healthy pace, and the tempestuous proclivities of the air here, moving about the streets of this city can be damn near impossible at times, depending on your location and your constitution. 

As such, my finely tuned capacity to hate things, both acutely and expansively, has been further honed over the years as I've frequented these streets. And whereas previously, in more cynical times, I would have kicked and spat and clawed at the gusts of human particles the city was throwing at me, these days—because along with baby smooth skin, an abundance of maturity and wisdom, and fewer physical ailments, aging also brings with it an increasingly sunny disposition, especially in the face of conflict—I simply greet the wind with a smile, and a thick sweater. 

ELL-OHH-ELLLLZZZZZ.

Peachy Keen

Blouse (Madewell - old, similar here), Skirt (Zara, similar here and here), Shoes (Zara, similar here), Watch (Marc by Marc Jacobs), Necklace (Dogeared "Karma"), Rings (misc. Ariella rings)

O, happy day! The sun is shining, the air is warm, the sky is clear, there isn’t a cloud in sight...there definitely isn’t any wind violently whipping my already temperamental hair to-and-fro (emphasis on the word fro), making it even angrier, and there definitely isn’t any fog, fogging all over me, soaking me in a light blanket of mist that is just damp enough to kick my hair into Diana Ross mode and render my clothes slightly see-through and crinkled. It’s summer in San Francisco!

Is it too early in the day for that amount of bitterness to be laid before you? My ruefulness is merely melodrama. Despite the fact that I am by nature solar-powered and also always freezing, this soggy city’s schizophrenic weather patterns are at this point, simply endearing.

But one can not deny the outfit difficulties that may present themselves in the wake of such capricious weather, in a place where you’re lucky if you get 65 degrees and a partly cloudy sky out of mother nature on any given day. It can make the unfailingly taxing question of “What should I wear?” essentially impossible to answer satisfyingly.

My solution? (Or rather, coping mechanism?) Ignore it. Let the mighty calendar of the fashion gods inform your decisions; let the seasons that are actually happening somewhere guide you. Oh, it's August and it's 50 degrees out? Leave the house in shorts, I say! Without a jacket (your jacket is actually stuffed in your bag because HELLO it's freezing), in a light-as-air silk blouse, in open-toed shoes even! Greet the fog with a courteous smile and then throw your shoulders back, laugh in its face, and soldier on. Because YOU LOOK FABULOUS. And sometimes, you’ve got to make your own summer happen—sartorially, that is.

You can deal with the frostbite later...