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November 19, 2019
I strut around town in my late '60s and early-to-mid-'70s duds with all the cockiness of Tony Manero to a silent '70s soundtrack playing in my head (I never cut myself off from city sounds while out and about), pretending it's still the '70s. It's the only way I can survive as an NYC resident without wanting to cry that it's not still the '70s. (Of course I still cry.)

Wearing clothes from that time (my kindergarten through sophomore years) is a shield against 2019, and in the colder months, a very heavy vintage coat's weight is a comforting cocoon.