After braving (read: near developing frostbite, regularly crying, and enduring approx. seven colds per year) 2.5 Wellington winters I have developed a vague sense of how NOT to go about dressing oneself. More so after a recent spontaneous galavant to Dunedin in fucking July (Do I have a death wish?? Perhaps?), where upon exiting the aircraft in a mini skirt and ultra sheer stockings I could quite literally feel my internal organs beginning to shrivel up and cease functioning in response to the the Antarctic-esque chill.
Invest in a fucking raincoat. (Also waterproof mascara, eyeliner, and industrial-strength setting spray…).
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Consider growing out all facial and bodily hair for extra insulation. Your ponytail could double as an fair trade, cruelty-free scarf. (Bonus points if your leg hair gets so long and prickly that it sticks through your tights).
Wearing a floppy wool hat like those bougie-ass ‘boho’ Instagrammers, whose job consist entirely of arranging flatlays and consuming acai bowls, will blow straight off your head before you are out of the door, and you will be the maniac high speed-tottering down Cuba Street after it. Unless you wish to relive your childhood with a chin strap, or fasten your headgear with double-sided tape (disclaimer—may cause hair loss), in which case you do you, boo.
Platforms are actually phenomenal at keeping your feet dry, warm, and elevated off of the (not-so warm or dry) ground.
Remain perpetually mildly intoxicated until spring. Sling a few shots of rum or Tia Maria into your morning soy latte, maybe even a nip of gin in your muesli (?), to start every day living your best life. Carry a thermos of mulled wine to sip on in lectures, perhaps you’ll finally start seeing cute people in your classes…