Autumn comes to Johannesburg

20120317-112351.jpg
The best thing about Durban is that it is always warm. The downside of that is that you don’t really have seasons…and while I am no fan of winter, I really do enjoy autumn/fall (depending where you come from). You still have warm sunny days, but no unbearable heat (who am I kidding, I love unbearable heat) and the leaves turn such beautiful colours. On Thursday and Friday this week the weather in Jozi cooled down and it rained, making it the perfect cuddle weather – even though I had no one to cuddle.
20120317-112411.jpg20120317-112430.jpg20120317-112454.jpg

The vain person’s guide to dressing for winter

20120222-200755.jpg

The lowest fashion moment of my holiday.

20120222-195839.jpg
The detailing on my wool coat bought in Poland.

20120222-195803.jpg

The delicate little gloves I bought in South Africa which I very quickly had to replace in Europe with a warmer pair.

20120222-201057.jpg
Trying to look good under the coat was a challenge too.

20120222-215148.jpg
My trusty pashminas – I would never trade them for a traditional scarf.

As I write this I am sitting in a vest and short-shorts back in the comfort of the South African summer. I also have to admit that I did not manage to find the holy grail this holiday; that is the ability to look and feel stylish while staying warm.

While we were in Paris walking along the river, a beautiful girl, in all black, long hair loose and blowing in the wind floated past (stylish people don’t walk, they float). I looked at her with all the envy and horror my body could spare since all my energy was concentrated on not crying from the cold. She had on a very light coat, no scarf and no beanie. I think she was even wearing heels.

At that same moment I on the other hand had on:
*two thermal vest,
*a top,
*two jerseys,
*a coat,
*2 pairs of stockings and jeans,
*2 pairs of gloves,
*2 pairs of socks cutting off the circulation to my feet, and
*a beanie AND a scarf wrapped around my neck and over my beanie.

It didn’t matter that my coat was grey wool and really classic, or that my boots are a rich warm dark brown leather. I felt like a war-time refugee from Eastern Europe. I had failed.

Call me vain, it’s okay, I admit it myself. I am also sure I am not alone. I was devastated that the soft caramel-colored leather gloves I bought at the Market on Main before I left made my fingers feel like I was climbing Everest. I detested the layers and layers tucked into stocking pulled up to my waist.

Maybe the secret is acclimatization, or maybe the beautiful winter fairy was just as cold as I was. All I know is that I long for the day when I can walk beanie-free along the river in Paris, in the dead of winter, smiling like I’m on the beach in Mauritius.

20120222-200131.jpg