Welcome back to Summer Sucks. For this week's installment, we're talking about caftans, the perfect summer outfit.
My commitment to stay in New York City until death and not, say, follow so many (weaker, former) New Yorkers to Los Angeles relies on one thing: never thinking about the caftan.
In Los Angeles, you get off the plane and, if your imagination does not fail you, you step into the Golden Era of Laurel Canyon. The vibe is just hanging there, in the air; as Pete Campbell once declared from a booth at Canter's Deli, "The city is flat and ugly and the air is brown, but I love the vibrations." And those vibrations bounce around to this day, they bounce off bungalows and flow through the palm trees and hang from shoulders in the form of caftans. Delightful, freeing caftans. The city may one day soon crack in half and topple when the Big One hits, but I love the caftans.
The problem is, no one wears caftans in New York City. Not really. Out in L.A. they feel natural, but put one on and hop on the subway here and you look out of place. "Are they bringing Echo In The Canyon to Broadway," people will whisper. Others will just judge and shrug it off as bohemian cosplay.
Last year I finally decided to wear one of my caftans out in public in New York City. Now, I'm not talking about some fancy-ass boutique non-caftan caftan, I'm talking about a cheap 1980s caftan I bought on Etsy; it's more trashy '80s poolside than 1970s Palm Springs. But I had worn it in L.A. and it felt great, so I was determined to get comfortable wearing it out in public here, too. I was just going to a friend's party at a bar, I wasn't taking a subway, and I was pretty sure I'd know most people there. Ten minutes in and 3 people came up to me, separately, and stated: "You're wearing a caftan." Just like that. A statement of fact. Did they like the caftan? Did I look like an asshole? Did the freewheeling caftan not jibe with my hard New Yorker face? I don't know, as no further information was offered. No compliments were doled out.
You. Are. Wearing. A. Caftan.
I am wearing a caftan. (Jen Carlson / Gothamist)
And yeah, hell yeah I am, I thought, as I drank more alcohol in hopes my confidence level would match that inner voice.
That day it was about 90 degrees outside with 100% humidity. New York City humidity, which is thicker than the humidity elsewhere, because of the garbage, I assume. And you know who was comfortable in the bar which had no air conditioning and just one sad fan? Me, in my goddamn caftan. Comfortable temperature-wise, at least. Not so comfortable with the fact that people were astutely aware and willing to point out that I was wearing a caftan before, apparently, being rendered speechless and unable to offer a comforting followup.
I asked my colleague Ben Yakas to make up a German phrase for me for this phenomena, and here's what he came up with: Ausdemschritt Stimmung, which he says translates very roughly to: "out of step with the vibe."
This is a perfect turn of phrase for how it feels, but it doesn't need to be this way. Listen, nothing about a caftan feels or looks "New York," but nothing feels more comfortable in a New York City summer than a caftan. So please, New Yorkers, I urge you to wear them out in public. Organize a "Caftan Fridays" at your office. Toss on a caftan and do some laps around your block to get comfortable with it. Caftan like no one is watching. Do whatever you need to do to make caftans in New York City feel as natural as caftans in Los Angeles. Click through these historic caftan photos for inspiration—our city sidewalks will look so much nicer when everyone is floating around in their caftans.
Thank you, this has been the latest installment of our NYC Summer Sucks series. Hit us up if you have any questions (use "Summer Sucks" in the subject line), or just want to commiserate. And please hashtag us in both your city caftan photos and your summer misery photos with #NYCSummerSucks.
