I have been sheltered my whole life. In saying this, I might evoke images of a pampered, suburban kid, which may be an accurate depiction to a certain degree, but I’m talking about being physically sheltered. Growing up in the Bay Area, I was treated to mild-mannered weather. The scorching peaks and glacial troughs of other cities were simply far-away rumors, too polite to grace our presence. Mark Twain is often quoted saying, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” While he never actually said this, the statement is proven true every year, as I am consistently treated to 50–60 degrees, overcast skies throughout the year. Temperatures stayed stable, usually never ducking below 40 degrees or above 75. Instead of snow days, I was treated to bi-annual fire smoke days, the sky turning orange instead of white. And anytime there was a hint of frost on the ground, it would hit the local news with the weight of a blizzard.
After surviving the college application process and finally being admitted to UChicago, I spent my summer in blissful ignorance to Chicago winters. Of course, I had heard about the cold winters, as everyone had. Whenever I talked to relatives or friends about going to Chicago, “I hope you are prepared for the cold” was uttered without fail. I would always reassure them that yes, I have bought my winter coat, and yes, I will be wearing a scarf and gloves. Part of this worry might have been because I was polling an audience of Bay Area natives, used to wearing the same t-shirt and slacks year-round. This only further placated me; what do Bay Area residents know about Chicago? There’s a massive lake bordering the city, but is the lake effect even real? It’s called the Windy City, but San Francisco has plenty of wind. Chicago winter seemed like a distant worry as thoughts of moving in and picking classes clouded my mind.
Cut to last November of my freshman year, and I was beginning to learn that Chicago’s winter is as serious as they say. The wind would howl past my window at night and seemed to cut through layers of clothing to chill my bones the second I stepped outside. Treated to temperatures I didn’t know were possible, my nose and hair, still damp from my morning shower, froze over after a few minutes outside (I soon switched to evening showers). I would find myself wearing three, or even four, layers just to walk the short distance from my room to class. The perpetual plains of Illinois seemed to channel and amplify these terrors, causing mini flurries to appear in front of my eyes. I started to wear over-ear headphones to keep my ears warm, music an afterthought.
Now, in February, as I’ve experienced more and more of Chicago’s winter, I feel that I have come to understand the cold in a new way. I finally refined my multi-layer strategic dressing plan enough to keep me warm on the walk from my room to class. Over time, people have strayed from the sidewalk to find the most efficient paths through the snow and frozen dirt, shaving off precious seconds spent in the cold. Orange trucks dot the sidewalks with blue kernels of salt and melt away the nasty ice. And as much as I’ve been hyping up the adversity of living through a Chicago winter, I’m never really outdoors for more than 10 minutes at a time—just enough to properly chill my extremities.
In fact, there really is an austere beauty to the Chicago winter. It demands respect from the people who live here and makes its presence known. Waking up in a snowy, white wonderland feels truly magical. As I walk between classes, thick, fluffy snowflakes land in my hair and eyelashes, slowly assimilating me to the wintertime. And unlike some places (e.g. Texas in 2021 when met with a colder winter than usual), Chicago has figured out the winter infrastructure. Every time I walk into a building I am greeted with a blast of warm air, chasing away the frigid drafts behind me. It’s hard to beat that feeling, especially when hauling the long journey back from Trader Joe’s. My room in Woodlawn is so well-insulated that even with the heat off, the room consistently stays above 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Frost covers every surface, allowing for hearts and “you lost the game” to be written on windows and cars. And you really can’t beat the aesthetic of snow covering the trees, grass, and gothic arches around campus.
Chicago’s winter has proven itself to be more than just a simple test of endurance—it’s an invitation to experience the stark beauty of a season that I’ve never truly known before. For all its bluster and challenge, it carries a certain magic that I never expected. This has only been my first winter at UChicago, and it’s already halfway over. Yet, now that I know how to understand its rhythms and navigate its demands, I find I am already looking forward to next year’s winter. In our world of rising temperatures, each snowy day feels more precious, like an endangered species I’m lucky to see in the wild. For now, I’ll do my best to enjoy every flurry and frosted window and try not to freeze along the way.
Adam Zaidi is a first-year in the College.
