I’d say that the freezing weather here at Cornell is hard enough, but the real tragedy is feeling the wet bottoms of my jeans brushing against my ankles. It’s cold, wet and extremely uncomfortable, causing me to regret trying to dress well for class.
By the time I’ve finished the trek from North to Central Campus, the carefully curated outfit I put together in the morning has already lost its charm. The bottoms of my jeans are soaked, my tote bag is dusted with salt and whatever style I thought I had disappears under three layers of necessary warmth. Winter at Cornell doesn’t just challenge your endurance — it quietly eliminates the possibility of fashion altogether.
In theory, winter fashion is supposed to be fun. Pinterest boards promise sleek trench coats, perfectly layered sweaters and scarves draped just so. In reality, Cornell winter fashion boils down to a single question: Will it survive the walk? And the answer determines everything.
The problem is that practicality wins every time. The coat comes first — not the cute coat, but the one that makes you look like a walking sleeping bag. Beneath it are layers that no one will ever see: thermal shirts, hoodies, maybe another sweater if the wind off Cayuga Lake decides to remind you who’s in charge. Snow boots replace any shoe that could possibly be described as stylish. At some point, gloves, earmuffs and a hat enter the equation, and suddenly the outfit becomes less ‘carefully styled look’ and more ‘human attempting to endure the elements.’ For me, I can’t even wear jeans in the winter — not just because I’ll freeze, but because I know I won’t be happy when I get home and see the bottoms stained black from slush and salt. I can’t even wear wide-leg sweatpants either. As someone who’s five feet and three inches, the hems of my wide-leg sweats and flare leggings are constantly dragging on the ground, so by the time I walk back home, they’re completely soaked and fraying with every step I take.
And then there are the sidewalks. Cornell’s winter sidewalks introduce another enemy of fashion: the mysterious gray slush mixture that forms when snow, salt and dirt combine into something uniquely hostile to clothing. This slush does not discriminate. It splashes on pants, coats and occasionally faces. It ensures that dressing in any remotely light-colored clothing is a mistake. White sneakers? Forget it. Even the bravest fashion attempts quickly surrender to waterproof boots and dark colors that hide the evidence of the daily trek to class.
The real tragedy, though, is the loss of creativity. In warmer months, getting dressed can feel like a form of self-expression. A good outfit can make the walk to class feel like a small performance — a way of presenting yourself to the world. Winter removes that possibility altogether. When the temperature drops into the teens, self-expression takes a backseat to basic survival. Every outfit looks roughly the same: coat, boots, scarf, hat. Repeat until April.
Occasionally, someone tries to fight it. You’ll see the brave souls wearing a stylish coat or a cute pair of shoes in February, as if attempting to prove that fashion can exist here. But Cornell winter is relentless. One unexpected snowstorm, one poorly salted staircase or puddle disguised as snow is usually enough to conquer even the most determined fashion optimist.
Eventually, we all give in. The puffer coat becomes permanent. The boots remain by the door. The ‘cute outfits’ we have planned in our closets get postponed until the first day it hits 50 degrees in spring — when everyone suddenly reappears on the Arts Quad in sunglasses and light jackets, as if emerging from hibernation.
Until then, Cornell winter fashion remains less about style and more about endurance. And if that means sacrificing cute outfits in favor of dry ankles and functional boots, so be it — though I’ll still mourn the jeans that never stood a chance against the slush on my walk to class.
Maya Rothbard is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences. She can be reached at msr295@cornell.edu.
