The wind is cold and tears at my tangling hair as I walk down Michigan Avenue. It is drizzling slightly, and my $20 Armani knockoff heels click snazzily through puddles that reflect the smoke-grey sky. My long coat whips unbuttoned around my legs; my hands in the pockets are the only thing keeping it from getting pulled off and sailing down the sidewalk like a camel caught in a tornado. I see those with umbrellas struggling to keep hold on the concave sails, and suddenly one goes by me; a modern tumbleweed on the streets of Chicago. I think of how excellent a rowdy, warm saloon would be right about now, but I've got somewhere to be so I don't look. However, I do look at those around me. The women wearing Chanel perfume and carrying name-brand handbags; Gucci for the young up-and-comings, Coach for the here-I-ams. I'm happy with my sleek leather Nordstrom bag that I found at a yard sale for $5. Sure it's a little wrinkled but it still smells like leather and damn if it doesn't look good. I pass a small group of sailors in their white dixie cup hats and long black raincoats, and wonder if they're from the training base north of Chicago. Since my brother is in the Navy I slow down and say a quick thank you, especially with my smile. They smile back and I'm gone, persevering on my way. Suddenly I feel invincible. Even though my clothes aren't designer brand and I don't own anything made by Gucci, I appreciate a well-made Ann Taylor blouse, a fine-knit J.Crew cashmere sweater...I own a Carolina Hererra dress, thank you very much; how many freshmen in college from a middle-class background can lay claim to that, hm? And even though my clothes are all XL or size 18, and I am literally twice the size of many girls my age, my shoulders are back and my chin is high, there's some attitude in my step. I am fifty pounds overweight and I can hardly resist a creme-filled donut. But I am confident and I am beautiful, and I'll be damned if those sailors didn't take a second glance.