Winter Is My Favorite Season And I Don’t Really Need Your Judgement Right Now

Pairs well with “White Winter Hymnal” by Fleet Foxes.

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Winter is my favorite season. I’m admitting it publicly, proudly, and with very clear intention. I am doing this because I am sick of your shit. Lemme tell ya why.

First, stop acting like I just shoved a dead rat in your morning smoothie every time I say I love winter. This is literally just what I think, I am not trying to cough my opinion into your face to make sure you catch it. My opinion does not affect you in any way. Me loving winter isn’t going to make winter get any “worse” this year, but somehow every time I’m honest about my affinity for the forefrostened months of the year I’ve suddenly become a lunatic you’d ignore on a park bench. And while I’m on the topic of “worse” once winter gets a little “worse,” that freezing rain shit will stop and turn into beautiful, powdery snow that will coat (ha) the city in what looks like vanilla frosting and cover up all the garbage and filth human beings disperse all over town with reckless abandon. Unless you’d like to continue arriving at work as a soaking, shivering, defeated feral animal. You tell me.

Next, quit slandering my favorite season, you bully. Do you think having the same basic bitch opinion as everyone else (Summer is the best season ever, how original), makes you cool? Do you think all your bitching is going to like…make Winter go away? “Ugh, it’s going to snow tomorrow.” Fuck yeah it is! I can’t wait! I love my snow boots, they’re comfy as hell and make a fantastic crunching sound when they traverse fresh snow. They also make me feel like I live in a cabin upstate and don’t you dare crush my dreams.

Speaking of fresh snow, it glitters! It fucking glitters like an aisle at Michael’s and you have the audacity to complain about it. What component of this city is already so pristine and perfect that dusting it with glitter would be akin to spitting in Mona Lisa’s face? Take your time, I’ll wait.

Also, do you think Winter gives a shit? She’s having a great time out there, blowing frost up the ass of an idiot who spends $40 at SoulCycle three times a week so that she can Snapchat it. Winter knows there’s no way those $200 leggings are gonna keep that bitch warm on her walk home. Winter swings at the easy pitches, don’t think she won’t.

Winter doesn’t even hear your shit talking. She doesn’t care that you can’t wait for her to leave, woman knows precisely how long her lease is. If you’re curious, it ends whenever the fuck she wants it to. Winter does not have time to respond to whining about how you can’t sit outside on patios or roll the windows down in your Uber. She’s too busy freezing ponds for hockey and frosting the windows of homes like we’re in a Dickensian painting. Bitch has things to do.

I don’t need an umbrella in winter. One less stupid, necessary item that I can’t leave in the car because I don’t have one weighing and slowing me down in winter for the aforementioned reason. One less thing to stuff into a bag or try to keep out of other people’s goddamn way on the goddamn subway. No little dribbles of water in the elevator or at the doctors office just waiting for one false heel placement to ruin my day and keep the chiropractors in this city in business. Fuck an umbrella.

But OMG summer is the best, what’s the matter with you? Shut the fuck up. Let’s take it back to the not-so distant past and mentally place ourselves on a subway platform in late August (because remember, us normals don’t get to “summer” in the fucking Hamptons, we have to continue to commute to work and earn a living even when the temperature would test the patience of the residents of Hell). Can you breathe? Are you comfortable? Do you enjoy the aroma of garbage and rat leavings in the morning? Wait…did you think you’d get a reprieve when the train arrived? This is the D train, bitch, that air conditioning hasn’t worked since 2004, if it ever did. Mind the fainting passengers, you wouldn’t want them to fall on you and soil the cute little sundress you got at Tory Burch.

Do you enjoy sweating that much when you’re not working out with full access to a shower? Do you enjoy the 25 minutes it takes for your work clothing to fucking dry once you arrive at the office? Is it comfy for you in that three piece suit, Counsel? I mean is it?!

It’s fine if you lie to me, but stop lying to yourselves. Swamp ass doesn’t play favorites, you’re not special. I hope you don’t like sleeping under blankets or anything, because Summer isn’t going to let you. You didn’t have a nightmare by the way, you woke up sweating simply because Summer can go fuck itself.

Summer in the city is disgusting. Spare me your tales of rooftop bars, I already know they’re too crowded for me to get into. Give me a cold outdoor climate and a warm apartment with throw blankets and my music playing and a fake fireplace on Netflix and day of the goddamn week. Give me cozy socks and expensive pajamas that feel like they were handcrafted by unicorn caretakers and the ability to use my oven in my own home without needing to bathe again.

Winter is quiet. And honestly I think we could all use a little fucking peace right now. Snow blankets the city in a calm, serene, sound-absorbing layer and for a moment it feels majestic here. We get fireplaces in cozy bars and luxurious sweaters and a very good excuse to have another human being in our beds. Winter cuisine is warm and soothing and best shared with others. I can’t fucking eat in Summer. We drink things in mugs and listen to bands that have lots of real instruments in them. Winter, if you let her, actually just wants to give you a hug, you monster. So give her a little honest thought, and when you’re done, tell me one thing that’s so truly terrible about the world, for a few months at least, finding its chill.

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