I woke up this morning (the second time, after Scout’s early morning walk) thinking about this woman from yesterday’s Sartorialist site, and how, if she were barefoot, walking through Paris in winter, rather than wearing those great boots, people would assume she was crazy. We don’t realize when we’re getting dressed in the morning, all the messages we’re sending—not just “I am cool,” but “I am sane.”
Which brings me to my brother Ian, who used to sleep on the grate in the sidewalk outside of St. Vincent’s hospital in winter, because it was warm—heat rose up through the grate all night long. He would have liked this girl in her boots: he appreciated a pretty chick. Probably still does.