"As someone who does not enjoy wearing layer upon layer of clothing (what's sexy about that?), this concept of wearing heavy sweaters and bundling up is pretty much lost on me."I'll play the strange bedfellow and come in on the other side. I was recently setting a garbage can full of books on fire in my apartment with a friend when we got on the subject of winter wear. How we see so many Chelsea and Hell's Kitchen gays forsaking their health and comfort to continue wearing summer clothing.
I said to the friend that not only is this retarded, it is ultra-retarded. When the winter hits, since I can't go into hibernation, I go into fashion hibernation. I simply stop giving a crap about the clothing I have on my body. I actually said:
"The first casualty in my war on winter is fashion."
Clothing is my pawn, my scapegoat, my guy wearing deer antlers. I will gladly slit the throat of fashion and bleed it out as I go in search of bulky jackets, bulky vests. It often seems as though I've gained 40 pounds in the winter because I am not at all averse to wearing 5 layers: a wifebeater, a t-shirt, a sweater, a puffy vest, and a puffy winter jacket. Add to that a scarf, a hat, pants and boots and there is nothing at all good looking about me.
For one, I don't care because I have a boyfriend.
For two: If I didn't have Jack, and was in pursuit of a fella, I understand that a tryst provides 30 minutes to 7 hours (assuming you cuddle post-coitus) of warmth, and my layers can keep me warm every day and night.
Winter in NYC is about survival, and you need to get militant about it, to the sickeningly, man-versus-wild Bear Grylls degree.
It's a winter war out there. And I refuse to lose.