Brace yourself

As Lord Eddard Stark warned us.

"Winter is coming."

After the bone-biting chill of today frostily and unnecessary-adverb-ly swept across Grahamstown, I fear that the sweet warmth of summer has seen its heyday, and is on its swift way out.

The last week has been very enjoyable, and not just primarily because of the weather. Sure, the sun has been shining beautifully, and some days have been unseasonably warm to the point that the air becomes a hot honey against your skin, cloying sweet and sticky, but the people at Rhodes itself have been... well, they look pretty good.

Now, blog posts about the weather aren't exactly what you'd call riveting, nail-biting prose, and so I come to the secondary point of this post: fashion. Now, I'm no Gucci or Gaultier, but I've grown up around two sisters and a my mom (they used to watch a HELL of a lot of Style Network channel, a testament to their lack of cupboard space), and so I pride myself on knowing at least a little bit about fashion and how to look good. This past week, I've thought exactly that about the Rhodents I've seen across campus and in the various local haunts at night. This I can attribute to one sole reason: home.

We were in that most wonderful of times: the first week of term. Freed from the stresses and strains of university, students went home to relax and unwind. Upon their return (I know this is an assumption, but I can only base it on what I've seen) most got new clothes, had their hair cut, coloured, Brazillian deep-conditioned, straightened and god-knows-what-else-ed. Also, being home, they probably decided to wear their nicer clothes (and here by "nicer" I mean "anything that WASN'T flip-flops, teesavs, beaters, hippy pants, hoodies, terribly-motto'ed printed tees, and the innumerable other things that encompass the "student too lazy to even put on shoes let alone drag a comb through their greasy, matted locks" look). And so, lulled into this sense of home (and in some cases, the fashion prerequisites of big-city life), most came back still lost in the heady mists of home-hood. As a friend eloquently noted, "Bro, these chicks are, like, at least one point hotter than I remember". Sexist shallowness aside, I couldn't help but agree.

Alas, let me reiterate: winter is coming. That first blast of freezing cold not only make students shiver and bitch and moan at supper, but it dealt a potentially fatal wound to fashion prospects. I've been here for two years now. Do you want to know what a cold, like, really cold, winter does to dress sense? It alters it utterly.

So, what have we to look forward to on campus? Well, for one, we can applaud winter's kiss in rendering the barefoot look a thing of the summery past. No one is so lazy that they'd freeze their pink little phalanges off. However, that is not enough of a saving grace. Hoodies are coming. Lots of them. Some with terrible res/matric slogans embossing/adorning/ruining them. And not those cute hoodies, either. The puffy, pouffy, "fuck you, winter" marshmellow ones so thick they'd make the girl who invented pouty ducklips look like Einstein. Hoodies of this caliber are utterly devoid of any shade or suggestion of sexiness; if anything, they remind of that last boss battle in Ghostbusters.

You see my point?

It's not just the hoodies, either. similarly puffy and pouffy hippy quasi-pyjama pants will make their usual appearance, accompanied by those ever-godawful Ugg boots. Or, (fucking)Ugg(ly) boots, as I prefer to call them. The only thing worse would be slippers: oh yes, you'll see plenty of those, too.

Kate put on her new hoody and went to lectures.

Or maybe I'm being defeatist: there are some who met the cold with valiant fashionable resilience: black coats, jeans, boots, scarves. I can just hope the wintry wind fills the sails of this revolution.

Or, maybe even worse, I'm being shallow. "There's more than meets the eye," I hear you cry. "Beauty is but skin deep!" Well, maybe. And maybe not. No one loved the Mona Lisa because the canvas and wood underneath its paint was. Let's be serious: you can't judge a personality from across the quad, and so you might have the most wonderful, striking, charmingly charismatic personality in the world, but it won't count for much if you dress like (for want of a better word) a lazy moron. And don't say "oh, but just talk to them".  What, every person I ever see? Yeah. Not likely.

All in all, I love winter. Yup, it's definitely tie-collared-shirt-and-jeans weather, a look which is just painful  under the the burning eye of the summer sun.
Except when I have to row. Then winter is a bitch. A hand-biting, bone-chilling bitch.