The Coldest Day of the Year

{Love sweatshirt: Forever 21. Leather pants: Alessandra Gold. Scarf: Vintage. Beret: Target. Boots: c/o Ecco Pawi Pull On. Leather gloves: c/o Express. Photographed by ME—with my new tripod.}


Today’s conversation with my fellow Midwestern Miami transplant:

Me: I’m freaking freezing.

Minnesota Nice: It’s 50.

Me: I’m freezing.

Minnesota Nice: You’re from the Midwest, that’s embarrassing.

Me: I was talking to someone about the cold on Sunday and she said she loved it. I told her I hated it. She asked me if I was from Miami. I told her I was from the Midwest and she said that’s why. You see, you forget, but then it gets cold and you start to remember those frozen days when it was so bad that you couldn’t go to school and your mom still made you play outside because you were driving her nuts. And then you’d be trapped in the frozen tundra that is the Midwest with your nose hairs freezing and your little toe cracking off of your body from frostbite. You start to remember all that and it makes you mentally colder than other people.

Minnesota Nice: It’s 50.

Yesterday it was 80 degrees in Miami. Today it’s 51. That’s almost a 30 degree difference. Crazy. And for me that’s cold enough. I don’t know how anyone is dealing with negative 11 right now, with a windchill of 40 below, nonetheless. I guess I’ll take my 50, bundle up and stick a sock in it. To my northern friends, buy a space heater and just climb inside of it. I’ll see you again when it’s June, because 50 is about as low as I can go.