Growing up in New England, the land of eternal blizzards and subzero temps, I learned to hate snow, just hate it. I devirginized a guy in the snow when I was 16 and he was 17 and nothing about it was romantic or idyllic. All I could think was: Jesus, this is a stupid idea, I have snow in every crack. But living in NYC, the snow has its charms. It transforms our worst into kids with saucer eyes and wonder in their hearts, for one thing. On the subway, even the most snarly UES social X-ray or OG manspreader is as cute as a button, all zipped up and snuggly in layers upon layers like a Star Wars character we haven’t met yet. I send love to every single person in my finely feathered city. Stay warm, you crazy apples.