In many ways, March is my least-favorite month of the year. True, you do get those occasional moments where you’re walking down the street and you see a fragile, brave little flower breaking through and coming to welcome the sun and you’re like, “Damn, bro. Spring is coming.” But for the most part, you’re simply teased into oblivion with afternoons that crack 65 degrees, only to be followed by evenings and mornings that freeze your tear ducts shut. You’re in a constant guessing game with the weather that will trick you into thinking that summer is just around the corner, then remind you that — screw you! — it’s not going to be consistently t-shirt-weather for another two months at least.
Seriously, though, how does one dress for this absurdity? I can hear my mother in my ear just repeating “layers, layers, layers” like a broken alarm clock, as though that’s ever been a solution to anything. Sure, you can put on a camisole under a cardigan under a blazer under a winter coat, and that’s fine for the fifteen-to-twenty minutes you’re outside in the morning, waiting for the train and hating everyone around you for being born, but what about literally any other point in the day? You peel off later after layer, and are essentially left hauling 20 pounds of clothing with you like a sherpa. It’s just unpleasant on all sides.
And maybe I’m crazy, but I remember March just being generally cold. All global warming jokes aside, it’s getting pretty ridiculous having the errant 70 degree day mixed in with a week full of rain and 50 degrees. It’s just not fun. I don’t care what weather this month wants to give me, honestly, as long as it’s consistent. I’m tired of having to chase sunny spots around the sidewalk like a meth head looking for a fix. I want to just be able to put on a reasonable outfit in the morning, check the weather on my way out, and be content in the knowledge that it’s going to be generally hot or generally cold throughout the day’s adventures. I don’t want to have to keep a Snuggie in my purse.
I think the worst part about this kind of weather is that we’re so desperate for anything we can get in terms of warmth that the second it looks like going outside isn’t going to give us hypothermia, we all but strip buck naked and run around in circles. Perhaps it’s just me, but I have far too many friends who show up on the first day of quasi-spring wearing a V-neck t-shirt and biking around the city like it’s the fourth of July. I know they’re cold. I know they are. They have to be. But they will continue to laugh in the face of their goose bump-covered skin and prance around like Sun Gods because, damn it, spring is coming and we have to help it along. Look at this collective desperation — if you think for a second that March is not intentionally playing off of this for her own amusement, you are blind to reality.
I guess this will just be a month for blazers with cuffs rolled up to varying degrees of Miami Vice. You win again, boring early-spring fashion. You win again.