Some observations this week, so far...
Late Monday night: I pulled up the Weather Channel page for downtown Atlanta, and read off the numbers to the BF.
"35 degrees. Feels like 17. Right now! Guess I'm wearing my boots tomorrow". Ah. Another day I won't get to wear my beautiful new wedge shoes. Stupid bloody weather.
He just shrugged. He claims to dislike the cold, but he's from Toronto, so in the end, he seems to be able to just shake it off in a way I never could. I'm from Florida, so when the temperatures dip into the upper 70's, I've already got a jacket on.
I sat for a moment, pondering what sort of cruel universe this is, that sent rain, and then a "feels like 17" coldsnap, when all I want to do is wear my new wedge shoes. Then I remembered that I waited anxiously for six months to wear my new boots. So I can't complain.
Then I looked over at the BF, who was busy playing some racecar game (Forza?), and thought about what he would wear in "Feels like 17". Dress shoes, slacks, socks, dress shirt, sweater, coat, scarf, maybe gloves. He's Toronto-tough. He doesn't seem to need gloves. My mind drifted back to the dress shoes, and that was when I realized...
Most men don't really wear boots, at least, not in Atlanta. Oh, don't get me wrong: you see men wearing workboots, bikers and rockers wearing combat boots... but men's boots aren't really mainstream here.
I find this strange. If there is one thing men's style seems to be all about, it's practicality and usefulness. Boots are useful - even in Atlanta, where fall didn't really hit until last week. I live in boots from mid-November to about mid-March.
I thought about how, in my perfect world, men would walking around in glossy black or brown knee-high leather boots and sighed wistfully. I guess the world isn't ready for that kind of hot-ness.
Tuesday: Part One: The Fabulous Fur Cape. I don't remember what the temperature was, except that it was below freezing. 26, I think. It felt much colder, with the constantly streaming little wind, but I couldn't quote you a number. Pretty much anything below 40 feels like "OHMYGODAREYOUKIDDINGME?".
So I broke out my new-to-me fur cape. I thrifted this beauty during the summer, intending to re-sell it. But I made that rookie mistake of hanging it high on the bedroom door, which meant that every time I walked past, I paused to stroke it. It is so soft and pretty. So of course, within about three days, any thoughts I had of getting it appraised and re-selling it were gone. GONE. This lovely item was MINE. I admit, sometimes I go into my closet, and pet it, and talk to it in a manner not unlike Gollum. My precioussssssss.
There are people who say fur is cruel -and I believe in many cases, they are right. I also say fur is practical. My fur is vintage - some of it from the 1950's and 60's. I have wool coats and leather coats, but I can say, honestly, that wool and leather do not keep me warm like my fur pieces do. I wore a 60-year old black fox fur collar and cuffs over my leather coat in Toronto at Christmas a few years ago, and it made all the difference in how I viewed the world - I went from a haze of general, shivering misery, to feeling pretty chipper.
And yesterday morning, walking four blocks to my car yesterday, bundled up like Ralphie's little brother, the only place I was not cold, was where that fur cape was covering me.
Let me note here, that, somewhere in my soul, lives an expensive, European Bond Girl, who really only exists in ABBA songs, and who sails around the Mediterranean on a yacht, and gambles in Monaco. I felt like that Bond Girl yesterday, in my black over-the-knee boots and my fabulous fur cape.
Part Two: The Jaguar. I was in my car, driving to acting class, and marvelling that the 'Check Tire Pressure' light hadn't come on in my Honda, as it normally does when the temperature drops below about 40 - when I came up on a gorgeous black Jaguar convertible. I don't really know models, but this was the sort of car that makes you sigh at the sleek beauty of it. A model that hasn't yet been effed up, and made to look like a regular, uninspiring American car. This one had the top up... and the windows down. What the heck?? The driver was going around 68-70... in icy weather... with his windows open. Was there a malfunction, because of the cold? As I passed him, I turned and got a good look...
The man was smoking. He was smoking in his incredibly gorgeous car. I guess he was laboring under the delusion that all smokers seem to have, that the smoke stench won't soak into all things made of hair, bone, flesh, fabric, leather, plastic, permeate the pores of everything, and perpetually linger for the rest of Eternity... so long as you are sitting near a window.
This man was driving nearly 70mph in 20-something, feels-much-colder weather, with his windows open... because apparently he couldn't wait to get to his destination to light up. That's just crazy, in my universe.
Let me note that I got a good look at his face, and it wasn't a happy one.
Tuesday Part Three: In Which My Teacher Saw My Fabulous Fur Cape: My acting teacher is an old-school glamour girl, who could, at any point of her life, have passed for Mae West. Voluptuous, platinum blond, even into her 70's. She was wearing her black mink coat to class, which she has had for decades. I had previously sent her photos of the cape, and she thought it might be mink or fox. I mentioned that I had considered re-selling it, but - "Don't you DARE", she interrupted - and I continued - but I had fallen in love with it. The jury is out - but she thought there was a possibility that it is beaver. I am going to take it to a fur store at some point, get it cleaned and re-sealed or whatever they call it, and make arrangements to store it for next winter.
Today: It is a positively balmy 41 degrees as I write this. I am going to take my wedges out for a spin today. With tights underneath.