It has become increasingly clear, in the past few frigid weeks, that Punxsutawney Phil was correct when he made his unpopular prediction on February 2: winter is bound to drag on. 

Slush outlines the sidewalks; clumps of salt patch the concrete; sheets of ice concealed under curbs threaten our dignity. Worst of all, though, is the wind—screaming through buildings and slicing into every inch of skin not smothered with fabric. It’s the kind of cold that makes your bones numb.

The only way to survive such an onerous winter is to embrace its aesthetic completely. Think: dark moody libraries, hot coffees, big sweaters, old books, steaming soup, and ridiculously large scarves. That romanticization of winter studying is often the only thing that makes those backbreaking classes and the perpetual risk of frostbite somewhat bearable. All of this seems innocuous enough. 

But it occurred to me when my friends and I were leaving an event, and I was pleading with them to take an Uber to go four blocks, that this aesthetic comes at a cost. 

In the mornings, I rally myself to get out of bed with the promise of a hot drink to sip on my way to class. Of course, I’ll need another sweet treat in the afternoon to help brave the biting cold when I crunch my way through the snow to the next lecture hall. Perhaps another, if it’s an especially freezing day. And by the time I finally get back to my dorm, it is simply unthinkable to venture back out into that arctic air. So, I order in a dinner. Not to mention going anywhere in heels or at night; that mandates a cab because being outside in the evening slightly exposed is out of the question. All of this, I justify, is an investment in my health and well-being. However, I’ve begun to glance away when my monthly spending notification drops down at the top of my screen. 

Chamomile teas and udon noodle bowls are becoming quite sinister. The issue is, mainly, that everything that makes up that quintessential winter aesthetic—the warm drinks, the comforting food, the dark wooden rooms—all of that requires you to be inside somewhere. Now, the problem is getting from place to place. There is currently no named aesthetic for sliding around in gray sludge spotted with trash while squinting your eyes against an onslaught of hail and polar blasts on the way to a coffee shop. And when you arrive—dripping with a mixture of melted snow and perspiration, eyes watering from both the cold and the mental agony of the journey—the allure of the shop is shattered. Because then, you realize, you will have to make the whole trek all over again in an hour or two—and then (hallelujah!) it will be pitch black outside.

Thus, out of your own sense of self-respect, you order an Uber. Or you have the drink delivered to you. This is, for your (or your parents’) bank account, an ill-fated solution. But what else is to be done?

We’ve got the impending doom of climate change chasing us down. But the most pressing issue at this precise time, in this particular city, is the financial burden imposed by this unbearable weather. The economy is probably having a prodigious boost. But our pockets are suffering. 

Snow day via Flickr