By Anne T. Donahue
I’m writing this on an unseasonably cool day at the end of August. I’m wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and I’ve lit an apple cinnamon candle. I will be working on a puzzle when I’m done work for today, and I’ve accumulated eight months’ worth of tea which will get me through to at least September 20. To say I’m excited to kick summer to the curb is an understatement, and I understand that it is an unpopular one.
This is why I’ve assembled this list; to help you, a person who likely enjoys patio nights and warmer temperatures, feel a little less depressed. They say there’s a little witch in all of us (which is a quote I’ve taken from the autumn movie, Practical Magic), but I beg to add on to that sentiment: deep down, there is a sliver of our hearts that’s reserved for the coziness of a cooler season, and it is my job to make you embrace yours.
No more FOMO
At no point from late September to early March do any of us scroll through social media and feel like we’re missing out on an Incredible season. We do not gaze upon winter celebrations and wish we were there; we do not look at screencaps of somebody else’s TV night and wonder if we’re doing autumn-winter wrong. Instead, we take comfort: no one is doing anything, either, and it finally feels okay to watch reruns of Alone, smug in the knowledge that you would win hands down if the competition actually moved indoors. When temperatures dip, nobody wants to do anything but comfort eat and wear oversized socks. This, my fellow indoor creatures, is where we all thrive.
When I say “holidays” I certainly do not mean vacations to Europe or tropical resorts or anywhere any of us want to actually go. Instead, I shift my attention to the holidays we not only do not have to work, but the holidays that work to distract us from the sorrow of slipping on a few wet leaves and wiping out in front of your cool neighbour. Do I care about Halloween? No. Am I a Christmas fanatic? I do not have the time nor the patience. But I do care about feeling like I’m participating in something I’m absolutely phoning it in for, and I revel in the peace it brings me to know that while seasonal affective disorder is creeping up, I can deflect it with beverages that taste like nutmeg.
I hate everything I bought and wore this summer, and I never want to see any of it again. I will, admittedly, when spring returns and I begin to curse my autumn/winter clothes, but that’s beside the point, so I refuse to wear jorts until that time. So, fall? Cold weather clothes? Sweaters? Layers? Jackets? Shoes that aren’t sandals? We know these are better options. We know that flip-flps are gross, and that Crocs are all-seasonal. (That’s what big socks are for.) We know that losing one’s self in a large sweater is the fastest way to look put together when you are bloated beyond words and have to undo the top button of your jeans. We know coats make a vibe seem intentional when you’re actually wearing a shirt you spilled a drink on last week. Cool temperatures create the illusion of “I know exactly how personal style works.” And while I know deep down I never will, I do know that I’m ready to wear Doc Martens with everything again.
Everybody knows that from TIFF onward, every movie is good (unless it’s July 2023, and the Barbieheimercollaboration has just dropped, which we know was an excellent phenomenon). Everybody knows that this is when the Oscar contenders rear their heads, and we’re finally given endless fodder for small talk with people we’ll be stuck indoors with over the next six months. We’ve spent the entire summer talking about how hot it is, and what everybody’s up to this weekend: finally, we can stand around and agree that Dune 2 should’ve come out this autumn, but at least we have whatever-else-movie-we’ll-all-be-talking about and can meme it all until kingdom comes.
None of you will hear me complain about my hair (or most things)
Can you believe it? Can you believe that you, a helpless victim in this game of life, will be granted a reprieve from me talking about how bad my hair is in the humidity? How my cowlick just won’t quit? How my layers aren’t doing what I need them to do because the weather resembles that of a bayou?
From late September to the warm hug of spring, you will be spared this. You will hear nothing of how gross my hair looks or how shiny my face is or how somehow my denim is wrinkled from sweating excessively while walking from the grocery store to my car. I will not collapse in front of any of you, exclaiming, “It’s so hot! I hate this!” and expect somebody to help me. I will not talk about the way my bra has somehow liquified, or that I have a heat rash on my arms. At no point will you be treated to me sneeze-yelling, “My allergies!” while you go about your business like a person born to exist on this planet.
And while this may seem like this won’t make up for not being able to walk outside without a coat, one minute with me during the summer will quickly convince you otherwise. Reader, you’re finally free.
Need a little more Anne? Read more from Anne T. Donahue right here!