Goose bumps never look Goot

I LOVE Ivy. I really do. I think Cruise Bar and the Argyle are pretty good, too. They all look gorgeous, have good-looking bar staff, and non-sticky tables. However, I never go to these places. Instead, I spend a significant proportion of my weekend in Kings Cross, weaving my way through patches of puke and getting welded to tables that have been soaked with God-knows-what. All this is accompanied by the haunting sounds of Blister In The Sun, a favourite of the busker outside New York Slice.

And in the Cross this winter, I have noticed a baffling trend: Darlinghurst and Bayswater roads have been infested with girls who don't wear jackets. Or stockings. Or scarves. Or gloves.

In autumn, this behaviour is perfectly acceptable. Unwise, perhaps, but not completely deranged. What young thing hasn't tried to convince herself in May that it's still summer, and therefore absolutely fine to go out wearing next to nothing.

But when it's 8 degrees and the middle of winter, I'm sorry, put a jacket on. You look completely ridiculous. It's annoying carrying around a jacket, I know. But bring a bag, or get your gormless boyfriend to carry it. Isn't that what you got him for? And if you're single, take the hint: guys tend not to like girls with blue lips and goose-bump-covered skin.

I know you adore your new Josh Goot/sass & bide dress, and don't see the point in spending that much money on clothes only to cover them up, but let me explain: once inside, the jacket comes off. People will still be impressed how fabulous you look, and you won't have frostbite. Really, it's a double bonus.

I must admit, though, I suspect I was once one of these girls. I have vague recollections of spending hours sitting outside at raves in the freezing cold, talking to assorted randoms. And then in the morning, waiting for the first train out of Engadine, or wherever, blue-lipped and goose-bumped. This was probably due to sheer stupidity, rather than wanting to show off my tartan skirt and leg warmers, but regardless, I was that girl.

But somewhere along the line I have turned into one of those scowly middle-aged women who tut-tuts "young people" for listening to MP3 players at an unacceptable volume, or for wearing chipped nail polish. I have gotten old. And that perhaps is the most upsetting thing of all. Still, I don't have frostbite.

Originally published in The Sydney Morning Herald on 15 August 2008.