Baby, it’s cold outside

Sometimes there is truth in journalism. Last week the Sydney Morning Herald’s Heckler column mouthed off about Sydney-siders not embracing winter, sartorially-speaking. I’m not talking about Frank Sartor, Eddie Obeid or the failed state of New South Wales, but about fashion.

The column, written by a Canadian, who should know a thing or two about freezing his nuts off, argued that Sydney-siders are in denial about winter and they dress just like it’s a cool summer’s day. For instance, a hoodie and thongs and cargoes. Or thin summer dresses and bare legs. Or trakkies and a moth-eaten coat. Tick, tick, tick. Take a hike around any shopping centre or go out on the town, and that’s what you’ll see.

The Canadian columnist lamented the fact that Sydney peeps just don’t get into winter, when in fact winter has some of the best fashion opportunities: red coats, kick-ass boots, scarves, tights. And that’s just for men. Ok, he didn’t mention dagorama skivvies, but the point is it is possible to look hot when it is cold.

And it is cold in Sydney in winter. OK, not in a New York subway freezing kind of way, or a Siberian wind kind of way, but when the sun goes down or doesn’t bother coming out at all, it’s cold, damn cold. And, especially as our homes are not set up for it, it’s colder still.

I believe the situation is worse in Brisbane, a city in complete denial that it never is not complete sunshine 24 by 7. When the temperature gets down to 18, they still gad about in shorts and the world’s biggest goosebumps, but I think Sydney should collectively up the ante on its winter wardrobe.

Because it’s OK to feel the cold when it’s 17 degrees, it’s OK to wear something other than a hoodie in winter and it’s OK to look just as good as Melbourne-ites. Or better. (But that’s a whole other rant).

Brrr – personal winter feels like arctic thaw

I’m worried. The temperature is 23 degrees Celsius and I’m shivering in my trackies, uggies and a chunky jumper that looks like it was designed by the people who brought you the Snuggie blanket.

To be honest, I’d kill for a Snuggie right now. But why is it that anytime the temperature drops below 25 degrees it feels like arctic thaw is camped off the coast of Sydney?

The thing is I normally love autumn and winter. When else can you sink red wine and chow down your own body weight in carbs and hot chocolates and have it feel so right? When else can you not worry about spiders invading your personal space and enjoy the smug reassurance of a person who knows it’s at least 180 shopping days till Christmas. That’s my kind of season.

But 23 degrees and reaching for the Snuggie and dressing like a Santa Claus version of Barry O’Farrell? It’s enough to make you want to hide in bed in the foetal position with the electric blanket up on high and have someone bring you hot chocolates.