Sometimes, as one season is ending, there will be a 20-degree temperature swing. Philadelphia experienced this phenomenon a couple of weeks ago.

The consistent highs in the low 80s and lows in the mid 60s were replaced by highs in the low 70s and lows in the upper 50s. But if one walked around Center City, they’d think there was something off about the pedestrians. (I’m not referring to the Eagles Uber mobile.)

While most folks rocked shorts and a t-shirt as they hit Wawa or complained about SEPTA, others dressed like Autumn was in full churn. Jackets and jeans, sweaters and sweatpants, scarves and snowshoes weren’t uncommon wardrobes. (I jest about the snowshoes.)

And I’m not sure why the situation irks me. What someone chooses to wear has no impact on my world and should result in me giving zero fucks. However, I admit that if you are traversing the sidewalk in your turtleneck on a 60-degree day, you win; your outfit occupies precious space in my brain.