It is cold in my office. If I say that, than it really MUST be cold, because I am always hot. My toes are cold, but this is because I insist on wearing flipflops. This summer, I have worn the uniform of jeans + tshirt + flipflops to work nearly every day, because I have Old Navy flip flops in 6 different colors (a joke birthday present from my mother) and I have t-shirts and polos in those 6 different colors to match.

Matching flip flops to your t-shirt is, I suspect, not very high fashion. In fact, I think it may fall under slightly more insulting titles than merely “bad fashion sense.”

 Not that we had too terrible a summer, but the cool weather is delightful. This morning on the radio, the weatherman called it a “perfect New York City day.” Insert longing sigh here. Yesterday, I was actually paging through Craigslist listing for apartments in my old neighborhood.

I’m not quite sure why I am indulging in this brand of self torture when a move back to NYC is not going to happen in the near future, or even the far future if I choose Career instead of…whatever it is I would be staying in New York for.

Normally, I hate reading the typical” NYC-ers insult Jersey” expressions, but poor fashion choice is usually among the offenses committed by the bridge and tunnel crowd and it is a definite plus to not have to worry about how much I’m not living up to impossibly high fashion standards.  I don’t think this look would fly, no matter how spot on my color coordination is.

It would be nice to say I don’t care that I’ll never be one of those girls who can stroll down the street in stilletos (at 26, I still can barely walk in heels. High heeled boots are about as far as I can go) or that I never compared myself to other people on the morning commute. But I think in New York City, about the best dressed I can hope to be is boring, bordering on inoffensive.

And I hope “no flip flops after Labor Day” is not a rule (I suspect it’s “no flip flops EVER”) because I basically wear flip flops from April to October.