There comes a morning every year when you step outside and realize something has changed.
The air is colder.
The light is different.
Your iced coffee suddenly feels slightly inappropriate.
And somewhere in the back of your closet, a pair of boots whispers:
It's time.
I don't know what happens to me in the summer.
By August, I've worn every possible variation of a tank top.
My hair has surrendered.
My makeup has become largely theoretical.
And getting dressed has been reduced to one question:
What can I put on my body that will touch the least amount of my body?
Then the temperature drops ten degrees.
I put on trousers.
I find a jacket.
I zip up a boot.
And suddenly—
there I am.
Apparently my personality wasn't gone.
It was just waiting for leather footwear.
And I couldn't help but wonder:
Do we actually love fall—or do we just love ourselves better dressed?
Summer Has Terrible Expectations
Summer is supposed to be effortless.
That's the problem.
You're supposed to throw on a little white dress, air-dry your hair, apply approximately three freckles and spend the afternoon looking casually sun-kissed near a body of water.
Unfortunately, some of us require infrastructure.
I want a jacket.
I want a trouser.
I want a shoe with architectural significance.
I want layers.
Summer gives me linen.
Fall gives me options.
There is only so much personality one can communicate through a sandal.
A boot, however?
A boot has opinions.
The First Fall Outfit Is an Event
You know the day.
It's technically still too warm.
Nobody else is dressed for it.
The forecast says 68 degrees by noon.
Doesn't matter.
You've waited long enough.
The boots are coming out.
Suddenly the outfit has structure.
A loafer appears.
Maybe a blazer.
Perhaps a belt you've ignored since April.
You look in the mirror and think:
Oh.
I remember her.
This person finishes books.
This person has dinner reservations.
This person knows which wine to order.
This person would never stand in front of the refrigerator eating shredded cheese directly from the bag.
Fall Me is extremely impressive.
Whether Fall Me exists outside the outfit remains unclear.
A Coat Can Conceal an Extraordinary Amount of Chaos
This may be fall's greatest gift.
A good coat is essentially public relations.
Underneath it?
Anything could be happening.
Old T-shirt.
Wrinkled sweater.
Questionable bra choice.
Emotional instability.
Doesn't matter.
The coat says:
Everything is under control.
Add sunglasses and suddenly you're not running ten minutes late because you couldn't find your keys.
You're mysterious.
Fall fashion doesn't require us to have our lives together.
It simply gives us enough fabric to suggest that we might.
Boots Are Not Shoes. They're an Attitude.
Sneakers say:
I have errands.
Sandals say:
It's hot.
A knee-high boot says:
I have arrived.
An ankle boot says:
There may be a reservation.
A pointed boot says:
Someone here is about to receive an opinion.
And a heeled boot clicking across a hard floor?
That's not footwear.
That's an entrance.
There are very few problems that can actually be solved by changing your shoes.
But there are quite a few that feel temporarily less important when the shoes are excellent.
I'll take it.
Fall Lets Us Dress Like the Person We Think We Are
Maybe that's why we become slightly delusional every September.
The weather changes and suddenly we're convinced we're about to become a different person.
We'll read more.
Cook dinner.
Invite people over.
Drink coffee from actual mugs.
Wear lipstick on weekdays.
Possibly understand cashmere.
We buy a new sweater as though knitwear has historically been the missing ingredient in our personal development.
And every year, I believe it.
Completely.
Of course this camel coat will change my life.
Look at the tailoring.
The Closet Reunion Is Half the Fun
There is also something deeply satisfying about seeing your clothes again.
The jacket you forgot you owned.
The sweater that makes everything look expensive.
The trousers that somehow solve getting dressed.
The boots.
Especially the boots.
It's like reconnecting with old friends who don't require scheduling three weeks in advance.
And unlike the endless pressure to buy something new, the beginning of fall often reminds us how much we already have.
Sometimes the thing that makes your wardrobe exciting again has been sitting in a box since March.
Maybe you didn't need a new personality.
You just needed weather appropriate for the existing one.
Of Course, We Will Immediately Buy Another Sweater
Let's not become unreasonable.
No matter how many sweaters currently exist in the closet, autumn creates a powerful belief that one specific sweater is missing.
We cannot identify it.
But we'll know it when we see it.
Perhaps it's charcoal.
Perhaps it's cream.
Perhaps it's almost identical to three sweaters we already own.
Irrelevant.
This one has texture.
Fall shopping operates almost entirely on imagined scenarios.
This is the sweater I'll wear to the cabin.
I don't have a cabin.
This is the coat I'll wear walking through the city.
Which city?
Unclear.
These are the boots I'll wear to dinner.
Finally, an actual possibility.
Add to cart.
Maybe Getting Dressed Isn't That Shallow
We like to pretend clothes don't matter.
It's what's inside that counts.
Obviously.
But what's outside can be fun.
There is a difference between believing clothes determine our worth and admitting that sometimes they change our mood.
A great outfit won't fix a bad job.
A coat can't repair a relationship.
And no boot, regardless of heel height, has successfully organized someone's finances.
But getting dressed can remind us that we're allowed to enjoy ourselves.
To experiment.
To be dramatic.
To decide who we'd like to be that day and dress accordingly.
Maybe that's why the first real fall outfit feels so good.
We're not becoming someone new.
We're recognizing ourselves again.
She's Been Here the Whole Time
Soon enough, we'll complain about the cold.
The sun will disappear offensively early.
One morning the car will be covered in ice and all the romance will briefly leave the situation.
The boots will encounter salt.
The beautiful coat will become the coat we have worn seventeen consecutive days.
And we'll start fantasizing about sandals again.
That's how seasons work.
We want the next one approximately three weeks before the current one ends.
But right now?
The air is crisp.
The jacket is back.
The trousers are pressed enough.
And the boots are making that very specific sound against the floor.
Suddenly I'm walking slightly differently.
Standing slightly taller.
Making dinner plans.
Considering lipstick.
Maybe it's ridiculous that a change in weather and a pair of shoes can make us feel like ourselves again.
But adulthood asks us to find joy wherever we can.
And sometimes joy has a pointed toe.
So I couldn't help but wonder:
Maybe my personality didn't disappear for the summer. Maybe it just doesn't look very good in sandals.
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