New York Legs

You walk the way other people drive, so every decision you make about clothes is really a decision about a surface. Eleven kilometres of concrete, a platform in August, a February block where the wind comes off the water and finds the gap at your collar. You own one coat that does most of the year and you know what it weighs.

The part you will not enjoy: your speed is doing work your taste should be doing. A good half of what you own was bought in a hurry, near the office, because you needed it by seven that evening, and it shows in the cloth rather than the fit. You are not underdressed. You are underprepared at pace, and getting away with it.

Buy fewer things, in heavier cloth, from a shop you pass twice a week.