White-Hot Heat
The foolproof outfit formula for when it's disrespectfully sweltering.
The dog days of summer, blah blah blah. It’s disrespectfully hot.
Despite the weather, I’ve been in a cyclone of visitors — which is why you haven’t heard from me. I’ve traipsed Soho with my friend Abby, watched the subversive thrill of someone buying a fake watch on Canal Street, made new friends over oysters at Balthazar, drank champagne at Alaia, watched AI make art at MoMA, let my three-year-old nephew go nuts at FAO Schwartz, got the last Anna Weyant plate at the Gagosian shop, and walked through BDDW mouth agape.
I also bought weird art off the street, shut down ABC Kitchen with Olivia, had a ridiculous amount of giggles with the amazing staff at the Khaite store, and perched at Bemmelman’s at a very irresponsible 2:00 in the afternoon with my Mom (after Princess cake at Sant Ambroeus) because that’s what you do when you’re taking a few days off from life with your most special people (while also ducking into every available air-conditioned space).
In short: I’ve been having about as much fun as a girl can have. So I apologize that I haven’t written you since last week, but the only time I’ve spent on my laptop has been exclusively dedicated to running my company.
Anyway! What the fuck are we wearing right now? Nothing inspiring, that much I know. I’ve been living in a staunch rotation of feathery cotton poplin things in this sticky heat. At this time, I’d rather my clothes not touch my skin. A light graze, perhaps — but nothing constricting. Even underwear feels oppressive right now. But this is nothing new. It happens every year! May as well attack it with some semblance of strategy, no?
Coming from the South, I’m very rehearsed at this kind of dressing, and honestly, the way New Yorkers bitch about the heat in the city you’d think it were end days. I would like them to chat with my friends in Atlanta. They’d zip it quickly because temps are tipping 100+ in the Peach State.
Allow me to bestow upon you, New York friends, the time-tested Southern trick for surviving a heat wave such as this: take to the bed.
If you must leave the air-conditioned oasis of your bedroom, the only acceptable fabrics are linen and cotton poplin. In anything else, you will roast like a little hen on a spit.
I might live in New York now, but I was born in Texas, spent my youth in swampy North Florida (and scorching South Florida), then lived the last ten years in muggy Atlanta, Georgia. All places where the patriarchy AND the humidity are ball-and-chain heavy! (If you don’t put yourself together, bless your heart, etc. Heat does not nullify the expectation for women to look good in these places.)
My soapbox about womanhood in the South is sanctimonious so I’ll spare you that speech today. But! Because of this, I do know some things about not letting the heat spoil the fun of fashion. One can be practical, comfortable, and still composed if composed is what you want to be.
Here’s my formula: white cotton poplin dress or top/shorts, black shoes, and black bag. OR go all-white with the shoe and bag because you can do that kind of thing in high summer. Punctuating said white with a summer straw or raffia fiber is also a no-brainer. Find some nude cotton undies (what kind is your business) and you’re set.
As far as fixing your face goes, I’d recommend good sunscreen, a stick of men’s deodorant, and a setting spray. I sent out a whole letter full of ideas for hot-weather hair a handful of days ago, try that.
Summer comes in hot and burns out quickly — sexy, but a little toxic. She’s fun, but not the kind that lasts forever. You curse her now for the bullshit stunts, but you’ll be romanticizing her soon. It’s fine to have another fling. Play her games while she’s here! And In a white cotton dress, you never have to let her see you sweat.
I believe they call that beating the heat.