Facing the reality of winter (‘fashion')

October 30, 2005

Sunday Sampler\Sammye Pokryfki

October is one of the more deceptive months in Southcentral Alaska. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, it sneaks up on us in a clever disguise.

It starts out looking like autumn, even at times evoking late summer, and lulls us into a false sense of comfort, before reminding us that it is, after all, a winter month. Remember just a couple of weeks ago, there was still plenty of daylight and the sun had time to warm everything up, at least for a few hours each day.

We have now entered the twilight zone, the infamous tunnel of darkness that is the hallmark of Alaska winters. The glimmers of sunshine that we see from time to time have lost their warmth.

Although there isn't a permanent layer of snow on the ground, it has nonetheless made its presence felt, as each day the white line on the mountains descends a little bit further into the valley. Here, at the end of the month, temperatures are dropping below freezing overnight, the teeth of winter are bared, and there is no denying that the wolf is at the door.

If we're smart, we Alaskans pay attention to October's shifting personality and start to get ready for winter. You can see us every day, out there doing the little things that make a big difference later on. We are putting on snow tires, winterizing campers and boats, mowing the grass one more time, rummaging around the garage for the other glove, and replacing the liners in our Sorels.

The Pulitzer Prize winning author Alice Walker once said that she could tell almost everything she needed to know about a woman by looking at the shoes she wears. That seems to be true in Alaska.

Show me a woman in heels in January, and I'll show you a woman who spends most of her day indoors. She is not responsible for carrying small children, groceries or firewood, and you can rest assured that if she gets a flat tire, she will pick up a cell phone, not a jack.

I see these women during my work day in Anchorage. They look good, but they don't look ready.

Most of the Valley women I know are more inclined to wear tennis shoes or slip-on clogs year-round, and in the winter, we just add socks. We always have a jacket with us, no exceptions. We keep a tow rope and jumper cables in the trunk, and we know how to use them (let's see, is it black-on-black and red-on-red or the other way around?).

When we get dressed up for a night on the town, we might bring along heels, but we put them on in the car right before we step out. The dressed-up folks we join are none the wiser, and for a few hours we might even be mistaken for one of them.

A friend who is an accomplished outdoorswoman once told me that society values women for being either competent or beautiful but considers the two traits to be mutually exclusive. Women are either capable or they look good, but not both.

In most parts of the world, women have long been valued more for physical attributes than physical abilities. In Alaska, however, we measure things a bit differently, and attractiveness is often linked to both appearance and competence.

This duality makes for some interesting fashion statements. It is challenging to live in a northern climate, even with all the modern conveniences we enjoy. And it is even more challenging to look good while doing it. You know you are an Alaska fashion victim when you think your outfit is coordinated because the trim on your fleece jacket matches your fleece pants.

We dress in so many layers that it takes five minutes and some exhausting gymnastics to peel everything off. Plus, we battle hat hair, chapped lips, parched skin and the ever-present static electricity that encourages our most prevalent accessory: dog hair.

Seen from this vantage point, I have to rethink my assessment of the woman in heels in January. Maybe she is a pioneer thumbing her nose at the elements in pursuit of a connection with her feminine side, a rugged spirit brilliantly disguised. Perhaps she can change a flat tire in those heels in record time.

Regardless of how you look at us, in heels or Sorels, we Alaska women are out there every day, doing what it takes to live in the north country, beautifully competent and ready for winter. Hear us howl.

Sammye Pokryfki lives, writes and accessorizes her Carhartts in Wasilla. Contact her at sammyepokryfki@hotmail.com.