Humidity: The Unsolvable Problem

isithumidDon’t throw shit at me when I proclaim this, but I’m WAY more of a winter person. Hands down. The summer is lovely and all. Don’t get me wrong, maxi dresses are my world. Except for the fact that the bane of my existence rears its ugly head: humidity. 

If you are a fan of humid weather, I’m sorry, but you’re a freak of nature and we can’t be friends. How can anyone in their right mind be a fan of this shit? It’s heavy, gross, depletes my energy, and one of my least favorite words in the English language, “dewy”:::chills::: 

I’ve given this a lot of thought, probably too much, but if the Michelin Man, Big Foot and a storm cloud had an orgy together and reproduced, they would end up with a baby named Humidity. This big, puffy, evil cloud of awkwardness walks the Earth ruining everything it comes across. It just floats up to people and breathes really heavily in their faces, making everything in its path sweaty and wilted (hey … how about THAT visual). 

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Forget about trying to look nice or together or not like a complete and utter hot mess, that is unless you live in an air conditioned bubble. For me, a commuter who doesn’t have the luxury of jumping from my air conditioned house, to air conditioned car, to air conditioned office … finds myself getting the brunt of the humid wrath, and quite frankly, I’m sick of it. 

“OMG I’m having such a good hair day,” I say to myself rarely as I give one last look in the mirror before walking out the door. Then the second my heel hits the pavement, BAM. Humidity bitch slaps me across my face, leaving my hair puffy and curling in all the wrong places, and my makeup melting off my face. All I want is to turn around and feel the cool embrace of sweet sweet AC, but alas, I must forge forward. 

By the time I make it to the train, the idea of walking down the street in my underpants sounds like heaven compared to dealing with the clinging, uncomfortable, suffocating nightmare that my skinny jeans have turned into. I mean THAT is saying something considering I don’t even let my cats see me in my underpants. 

Maxi skirts are too hot. Jeans are too hot. Short shorts are too hot. My hair always looks like shit. I’m continuously a hot, shiny, sweaty mess, I don’t even know why I bother putting on my “face” in the morning. And yet, I don’t believe it is socially acceptable to walk around with my hair in a high bun, butt ass naked, right? Right. So what is the solution to fight humidity? How can we live our every day lives without looking like a wilted, exhausted, sweaty mess by the time we get from A to B?

Well kids, the solution is there is no solution. Hate to break it to you. Those people who say, “every problem has a solution,” should be smacked because that statement is a bunch of hogwash. Dealing with humidity has no solution unless an air conditioned bubble is invented for people who live in the city and/or commute. For those of you who, again, go from one air conditioned space to another pleasantly all day, well, aren’t you just so put together. Hey, guess what else? I hate your face.

If you can’t tell … humidity turns me into an angry, tired beast. So until the rare day in life comes around when it’s like 73 and sunny sans humidity in Philly, I will continue being a sour broad who shakes her fist at the inanimate humidity like a crazy person with puffy hair and sweat stains. 

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Die, Humidity, Die.

photo-11Maybe it is because I’m living a life sans air conditioning for the first time since college, or maybe it’s because I thoroughly enjoy snuggling under blankets when it is a little chilly … and because I’m afraid monsters might attack me in the middle of the night (issues), but this humidity nonsense is starting to get to me.

I have this theory that it is 100% impossible to look your best when you are surrounded by layers of thick heat. To those of you who live in a glorious climate where such nonsense doesn’t exist, let me give you a slow clap right now followed by an epic eye roll. But for folks like me living near or in a city whose middle name is “smog” and or “humidity” well … yeah … meet us.

Here’s what’s up, though. I wake up in the morning, take a shower, cool off enough to even think about taking a blow dryer or flat-iron to my head. And in between said drying and straightening I have to take t-outs to stick my head in front of a fan for sheer relief every 10 minutes or so. Once my hair is did I then shellacked it down with some sort of anti-frizz bullshit that some teenager at the beauty store talked me in to buying because, “like everyone here is obsessed with it.” Listen … I was desperate for a new product, but like how do you choose? Seriously. Everyone and their mom makes a damn thermal protector, shine enhancer, super straight serum shit, etc. … to the point where I got so overwhelmed that yes … I believed anything that the teenager sales associate with bad hair had to say. Now I’m left with a product called legit “It’s A 10.” Because with a name like that is HAS to be a winner …

So then once I’ve “tame the beast” … it is time to move on to makeup application. And all I can think to myself is, “how can I make this :::circle motion in front of my face::: not so shiny and sweaty looking. So I apply my moisturizer, my foundation, powder to take some of the shine away, bronzer … you get the point … and just when I think I have solved my issue and look somewhat decent … the humidity wipes away my work of art turning me back to a shiny hot mess. Seriously … to the women who can pull of the “dewy” (p.s. I LOATHE that word, but I have no other way to say it) glow … I effing hate you. Why is it that when I get attacked by high temperatures I look like an overweight dude who just ran five miles in a velour sweat suit? Like seriously I just don’t get it.

Fast forward to the end of the day and … my gawd. Exhaustion takes over from trying to exist like a normal human being in ridiculously hot conditions, I’m sweating and there is probably a good chance that I could smell, any sort of makeup has melted away, and my hair is a wild, frizzy disaster area. Cool. Welp … what do I do? I OWN IT. Yeah I said … suck on that, humidity.

Today I was playing with my hair, trying to pull it to one side, taming it down violently so I didn’t resemble a wild rabid beast … but I finally just said fuck it. Carrie Bradshaw, as cliché as this may sound … bear with me … didn’t give a shit. She had wildly insane HUGE curly hair and she owned it. So instead of trying to fix an unfixable problem since they don’t make hair straighteners that you can plug into your car (and if they do … please point me in their direction), I flipped my hair upside down, ran my fingers through it and tried to embody the confidence of Carrie Bradshaw … minus all the puns and “I couldn’t help but wonders.”

True … I still have yet to solve the, “I look like sweaty death,” problem … but I just invested in another spray tan because life is just slightly better when you’re sun kissed, so I’m hoping this will help. Listen we can’t look like golden Gods every day of the week … no matter how hard we try. So when the humidity gets you down … you just gotta flip that frizzy nightmare of yours around and walk with a stride of pride. This is what’s up: I’m hot, exhausted, probably jonsin’ for a frothy cocktail, and I look like frizzy hell … what up, world?