Wednesday, November 13, 2019

Coats

Alaïa python coat
a $17,540 coat that probably won’t keep you as warm as a decent $50 one

So this morning, it’s like nine degrees outside. For those of you who use the metric system, that translates to like -56 centisomethings. For those of you who don’t care, that translates to “It’s cold.” This got me thinking about the heavy, winter coat I put on so I could take out the trash without turning into a Drakesicle.

You’ll notice I didn’t say it’s a “warm” coat. It’s not. I’m guessing yours isn’t, either. If you stuck a meat thermometer in your “warm” coat right now, it would probably register something like the exact same temperature as the inside of your house, unless you’re outside, in which case it would probably be considerably colder (unless you’re in the southern hemisphere, in which case shut up). But chances are pretty good your coat is not warm.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m sure somewhere out there, there’s a coat that’s actually warm. When I was in high school, I had these things called electric socks that were like a little radiator on each foot. Each one had a pouch on the side, in which you were supposed to put a D battery and then walk around with these giant bulges sticking out of the sides of your pant legs, occasionally running into things because human evolution hasn’t yet produced the kinesthetic awareness that accounts for D batteries. But they were warm—so warm, in fact, that they practically burned my feet off. If I wanted to wear them at all, I had to wear two pairs of athletic socks beneath them, which further increased the size of my lower legs and resulted in me running into even more stuff. And to top it all off, these extra socks totally defeated the purpose of having the electric socks in the first place, since three pairs of thick socks will keep your feet pretty warm anyway.

Which brings me back to coats: they’re not warm.

You know what is warm?

You.

Seriously. You’re like a hundred degrees (metric: 26.5 parsecs). All things considered, that’s pretty darned hot. If it were 100˚ out, you wouldn’t need a coat. In fact, you’d probably be ready to head back into some air conditioning or a pool or something. But when it’s not 100˚ out—like when it’s one of those temperatures Snow Miser sings about—then you being 100˚ makes the 30, 20, 10, 5 degrees feel cold. Don’t believe me? Try it. Don’t wear a coat. Dress like a middle schooler waiting for the bus in shorts in the dead of winter because human evolution has caused middle schoolers to be idiots. Unless you’re currently a middle schooler (Hi, kids!), you’ll notice that it’s cold.

But penguins don’t notice, because their bodies lower their temperature to be more like the world around them. Same goes for lizards and fish and frogs and certain romance novel protagonists. Why? They’re not warm-blooded. We are. Like 100˚ warm.

So what do coats actually do, if they’re not warm? Well, if you went outside naked (notice I say “you”; I wouldn’t do it), you’d notice that whatever temperature it is outside, the degrees in your body want to be that temperature because, you know, science. If it’s 30˚ outside, science wants your body to also be like 30˚, so the degrees start breaking free and running away like parents from the average children’s YouTube channel. By making the degrees leave your body, science thinks that maybe they’ll make the air like 30.00001˚, and your body will also be like 30.00001˚, and everyone will be very happy because equilibrium. But science is dumb. It doesn’t understand that your body won’t be very happy, because it will be very dead, which is why we have coats.

Coats basically break both the parents’ legs and the remote control, so they’re stuck watching the YouTube video whether they like it or not. They’re humans’ way of saying “Go home, science. You’re drunk,” which science doesn’t like very much, but it can’t do much about it because the parents’ legs are broken and science doesn’t have arms or legs in the first place. The coat insulates the warm you from the cold air, so those degrees have a much harder time getting out. This keeps the air close to your body closer to the 100˚ inside your body, so you feel warmer than if science had its way with you.

Science is weird.