Every time I complain about the cold weather on the east coast—a vaild complaint considering that the mercury has been hovering dangerously close to single digits for the past week—someone, without fail, brings up the fact that I am from Minnesota. It is like because I grew up in arguably the coldest place on earth, I have no right to ever complain of the cold. Even my dear grandma, turned a deaf ear to my complaints, stating “Well, that’s not bad. Here is was 4 degrees.”
The problem I have with cold weather is that it can interfere with my ability to truly express my fashionista self. Although I have a fabulous selection of furs (fake) that help keep my fashionista quotient high, I still have to work over time to combat things that send my fashion karma into a tail-spin, like hat hair and the bulk resulting from my trusty long underwear.
I guess my mother is right . . . it has become “too cold to be cute”.