It’s holly, jolly out there

It got to be like, 60 degrees on Tuesday and the sun came out after a few days down at around noon or 12:30.

It was perfect given where I was walking — through midtown, in the heart of New York’s holiday cheer.

A vintage bag from Merci C’est Vintage over this By Malene Birger coat. Here’s another good black one ($676), or this is a new take on an old favorite if you’re after more jooj (it’s very Valentino-coded, and on this note, my head is spinning around all these shoes. Need? Want? Want? Need.)

But this is the season of chasing time, which makes it hard to pick up on the tacit qualities that unknowingly lead us as we embark on these races against an indefeatable clock.

Making time work for you

So I haven’t felt as connected to the cheer — the sort of sweetness that traipses through air in December when the generosity of the human spirit spills out onto the streets it walks.

It’s been more like a tunnel where I am, but not one I resent or even that scares me because these tubular walls are familiar now and I know that this is just what it’s like when you have a new baby at home.

It’s wild how something could terrify you, not because it’s scary but because it’s new. The first time I had kids, I didn’t know there was a light at the end of this tunnel, so I just tried to get out as soon as I could.

I didn’t know I’d be in there until my kids grew a bit older — that there was no use in rushing and in fact, that the gift of the tunnel was also the gift of being with them and being with me.

I’m relieved I know now.

leandramcohen

A post shared by @leandramcohen

But it was good to be out on Tuesday. I forget how stunning the December sun can be. How soft it is, how it turns what it touches to gold. You really do get the sense that when it hits, God is smiling at you.

Maybe these sweaters are such a hit because they look like a Sabrett Stand

As I made my way up from midtown on foot, I thought about what my city walks give to me. The psychic clean up, the slowdown, the clarity. The way they help me sip in the collective vibe, affording me feedback on the cultural temperature.

Not getting this feedback when the streets empty out is, I think, what makes my winters hard. I need the feedback to feel alive — to remember how big the world is outside of me. How refreshingly small I am in the grand scheme.

This isn’t a street report but on my walk home, I encountered small style signatures that reminded me: I really do believe in magic.

The way two pairs of innocuous, matching white socks felt like the main event under the afternoon light.

How jeans and a mid-length coat hit their wearer in precisely the right places.

Coat/jean hem-length, and how the tongue of the loafer doesn’t interfere. I think these or these are worth consideration

The leather patches on the elbows of one tweed coat, coordinated with a pair of all-weather boots and his skinny cigar, smoke emanating outwards.

Tweed coat patches/boots.

Plaid inner, washed blue slacks (some call it “French navy”)

And I loved how the plaid inner of a single breast trench coat looked flipped out over worn blue pants.

The further uptown I made it, the more specific the details became.

Backpacks rubbing shoulders, regal dogs walking together.

Then finally, a few blocks from home, a sunset horizon descending to the tune of Robert Frost’s, “Nothing gold can stay.”

In December, the bright side is the reminder that gold always comes back the next day.

A cold front may be coming but it is holly, jolly out there.

Have magic next week, and as always, thank you for coming around. I’ll see you back here in 2025.