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Coming from Colorado, we thought we knew cold. We’d seen our fair share of sub-zero temperatures and figured anything in the 20s—or even the teens—wouldn’t be much of a challenge. Especially here, in the South.
We were, as it turns out, deeply mistaken.
The difference is the humidity. In Colorado, cold stays in its lane. You step outside, you feel the chill, but once you come inside, it’s over. The air is dry, the furnace kicks in, and you thaw out within minutes. It’s a brief, transactional kind of cold. Professional, even.
Here in the Carolinas, the cold takes things personally. It doesn’t just nip at your nose—it files a change-of-address form and moves in. You go outside, get cold, come inside… and stay cold. It’s less “brisk air” and more “moisture-laced chill that clings to your bones like regret.”
We thought we were ready. We brought all our reliable Colorado gear—fleece-lined jackets, waterproof shells, ski gloves, flannel shirts that make you feel outdoorsy even when you’re just checking the mail. Indoors, fleece vests were occasionally worn but never strictly necessary.
In the Carolinas, though, fleece is no longer a fashion choice. It’s survival.
The cold doesn’t stop at the door here. It strolls in, sits on the couch, and refuses to leave. We’ve had to rethink everything. Now, it’s not about dressing for the cold—it’s about preemptively defending against it. That means layering under the layers we used to think were the layers.
And yes, the irony is noted. We moved to the South and now wear long underwear to take the trash out. Wool socks are standard. Scarves are no longer optional accessories—they’re security blankets.
We still shed our outer layers when we come inside, just like we did in Colorado. The difference is, now we keep the inner layers on… and sometimes add a few more. Just in case.