Weather Vain? There’s More to Looking Good Than Keeping Dry

I t arrived, as we knew it eventually would: rotten weather. Or at least the Southern California version of rotten, which means rain.

It’s axiomatic that Southlanders have trouble coping with wet weather (as opposed to, say, people from Seattle, where they run for cover like moles when the sun comes out), but do we redeem ourselves with foul weather fashion smarts? Just how do you get through the very occasional bout of wet weather looking good and staying dry?

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HE: I suppose I shouldn’t snicker at the people I see on the streets in a storm who are running like ants with newspapers held over their heads and not a raincoat or umbrella in sight. In this corner of the world, we think of rain as an aberration. It always takes us by surprise. Little kids get goggle-eyed: “Mom! Water! From the sky!”

We are why the collapsible umbrella was invented. Don’t want to be burdened with a conventional, cane-type brolly? Stick a little collapsible number in your purse or glove compartment or even in your hip pocket.

Still, for some reason, we haven’t gotten the hang of this yet.

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SHE: I have two trench coats, two raincoats, a million cheap umbrellas, a couple of rain bonnets--and what did I grab when I waltzed out the door in a downpour last week? Nothing.

“The rain will have stopped by the time I get to work,” I told myself. Not. When I got to my desk, my shirt and trousers were soaked, and my hair looked like I’d just swum the English Channel. Twice.

The following day, which was also rainy, I toted my big blue-and-white umbrella, the one I bought in Berlin the year the wall came down. There I was, in my usual basic-black-from-head-to-toe duds, carrying this huge, non-coordinating contraption. But I arrived dry. Not a hair out of place.

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HE: Every few years I go to England on vacation, and every few years I get all dazzled by the spiffy wet weather gear the Brits are so good at producing. And I end up buying some of it. The latest purchase may be the coolest: the quintessential English umbrella. You walk with this one and swing it like a cane. It has a broad, deep canopy in classic black (you gotta save the colors for the golf course); the ferrule is brass, and the shaft and handle are highly polished Malacca cane. You could look like Quasimodo in real life, but when you carry that umbrella, people think you’re Rex Harrison.

The irony: About the only time I ever use it is when I take it on vacation. To England. Here at home, I let a smile, and my car, be my umbrella. We must all be nuts.

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SHE: Truth is, in California I feel goofy in rain gear, conspicuous, sort of like I’m trying too hard. But I really admire someone who dons a great looking trench coat, boots and a colorful scarf when the skies are gray. They look smart. Prepared. When I’m in New York, I dress that way, rain or shine. Ditto London. Everybody does . Here, I buy the stuff and then mostly leave it in the closet.

But how I love to dress for those cozy moments indoors when the rain is hitting the windowpane like a hammer. I throw on a snug sweater, comfy slacks and suede boots. It’s the closest we coastal types get to apres-ski wear.

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HE: Eventually, though, you’re probably going to have to go out in it and get your feet wet. And this is where women have it all over men: boots. There are all sorts of stylish weatherproof women’s boots on the market, and it seem that whenever real rain threatens, every woman in a business suit is wearing them. And they look great.

Men, on the other hand, have three choices, none of them particularly good: We can wear running shoes to work; we can wear hacked-up dress shoes to work and keep a good pair in the bottom desk drawer, or we can wear galoshes over good dress shoes. In any case, we look silly. I vote for calling in sick.

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SHE: How about wearing old tennies and bringing along an extra pair of shoes in your bowling bag?

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HE: Yeah, I can see it: You’re a hard-charging, meat-eating young arbitrager clawing at every chance to make your in-office competition look foolish, and you show up in an Austin Reed suit and a pair of Converse All-Stars. It won’t matter how fast you unlace them and slip into your Florentine tasseled loafers once you get in the front door. The harpoon will already have been sunk.

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SHE: Well, the next time a typhoon hits, picture me soaking wet. Oh, I’ll stalk my closet for a waterproof look that will keep my powder dry. I may even toss on a raincoat and do a pirouette in front of the mirror before I take it off and throw it in the back of my car.

A blustery-day dresser I’m not. As a California native, about the only thing I wear that’s waterproof is mascara.