This cold snafu we’re having, I’m over it. And here’s how I know my Midwestern blood has officially left my body entirely: The other night I went to a dinner for Ramy Brook at The W. I saunter in with a coat, boots, the whole nine yards—it was, after all, around 50 degrees. Half of the party had on coats, leather, even fur (the Miamians). The other half had on sleeveless blouses and skirts. I turn to that half and say,”You’re from New York, aren’t you?” Yup. It’s like when I moved to Florida when I was a freshman in high school. I showed up to the bus stop that February morning in shorts and flip-flops, while everyone else was huddled up in coats and scarves. Winter, it’s all relative. Long live humidity!