by Kerry Dougherty
On Sunday evening we headed over to the Sandler Center to see Ballet Virginia’s production of The Nutcracker. My granddaughter was in the corps of dancing Ginger Snaps.
It was cold, for the Beach anyway. Temps were In the 30s.
Please don’t laugh, Northerners. That’s frigid for these parts.
I threw on my warmest coat, a wool scarf, knit hat and boots. The rest of my family was similarly attired.
Then my son appeared. He was sporting a crisp sports shirt, khakis and loafers.
And that’s it.
“Grab a jacket,” I said, gesturing to the coat rack by the back door bursting with an assortment of cold weather gear.
“I’m fine,” he said, adding the obligatory, “I went to school in Buffalo, remember?”
That again.
Every time my son ventures out — underdressed — into the cold, he reminds me of the four years he spent in God’s refrigerator. He sometimes wore flip-flops there, he says.
I didn’t inspect his feet. But on the way to the car I realized he wasn’t wearing socks.
In December.
“Your feet must be freezing,” I exclaimed..
“Nope, they’re fine,” he said.
I thought my son, who believes that one set of clothes can take a man through four seasons, was unique. Or part of a weird sect of Beach guys who think that living in a sandy environment requires summer duds all year.
He’s not.
Turns out, he‘s part of a nationwide frigid fraternity. His condition so commonplace that the men’s fashion editor of The Wall Street Journal invented a Latin name for them:
“EVERY WINTER, the season’s most confounding species emerges: the Male Nojacketus. On that first freezing day, you can spot him standing on the subway platform or hoofing it to Starbucks, nonchalant in his meager button-up shirt. Even when this foolhardy creature can see his own breath, he may not don a coat, or even a pair of pants (Male Nojacketi adore shorts, especially of the cargo variety). Scarfs or gloves? He would never stoop to such compromising accessories. The most extreme variety of the species will bare his toes in flip-flops on days that could easily end in snow.”
Yep. that’s my boy. A prime example of male nojacketus.
He’s actually partial to shorts, but knows better than to wear them to the ballet.
Fact is, my son loathes long-sleeved T-shirts, fleeces and down jackets. Sweaters? Never.
I quit buying him warm clothes for Christmas years ago after sending sacks of tags-still-on outerwear to Goodwill every spring.
In a story headlined “What’s Up With Men Who Don’t Wear Coats In Winter?” The Wall Street Journal’s Jacob Gallagher once set out to interview these cold-blooded creatures.
The reasons they gave for donning shiver-wear in winter varied. Some said they feel comfortable only in light-weight clothing. Others insisted that bulky clothes interfered with their mobility. Another set were what the author called “stubborn contrarians.”
Still others, like my son, claimed they don’t feel the cold.
A massive Arctic blast is headed our way this weekend. Christmas Eve is supposed to be windy, with temperatures predicted to get no higher than 31 and drop to a frostbite-inducing 17 just in time for Santa.
Hyperventilating meteorologists are already panicked about the remote possibility of snow, even though everyone knows snow changes to rain east of Williamsburg.
There might be ice. There could be snow. Accumulations could be as deep as two inches!
Have your cameras ready.
Should you see someone in shorts and sandals strolling through this upcoming maybe-Virginia Beach blizzard, roll down your window and ask if he’s ever lived in Buffalo.
If he says yes, that’s my boy.
Kerry Dougherty is a refugee from the daily newspaper business. This essay originally appeared on her website, Kerry: Unemployed and Unedited. It is republished here with permission.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.