Am I The Only One Sweating?

You’re hot, too? Why isn’t your lower back sweat soaking through *your* shirt? Huh?

In Real Housewives of New York Season 2, Episode 11, Ramona Singer pays her doctor a visit. It’s not a check-up she’s needing or a pain in her lower back. No, she’s visiting with Sharon Giese, MD, a renowned plastic surgeon of the Upper East Side. “So you’re back for fall refreshers?” the doctor asks. “Well, I have an issue; it’s a little embarrassing,” Ramona tells her.

“In my early 20s, I had a perspiration problem where I would actually ruin my silk blouses and then I couldn’t afford cashmere, my little sweaters, and I don’t know what happened but all of the sudden it’s starting up again where I get, I swear to you, these huge wet spots under my arms. And fall is coming and I’d like to wear my cashmere sweaters and my silk tops and what am I gonna do?”

I’ve had a similar thought pattern, albeit less around my ability to flounce around the Upper East Side in cashmere sweaters. But like Ramona Singer, I, too, have what I’d dub an embarrassing issue. What’s worse: I often feel like it’s just me. But I’m not like Ramona. I didn’t vote for Donald Tr*mp. I didn’t shoo away an A-list actress after mistaking her for a fan. And I wasn’t slammed for bragging about my “beautiful” view in Florida as LA fires raged on in January. Still, I related to this scene as a chronically sweaty individual in a world seemingly populated by those who can control their bodily fluids in a more demure way.

But why am I left feeling like I’m the only one? Last month, I attended Jonathan Anderson’s debut show of his new tenure as Creative Director of Christian Dior (you can read my thoughts on that here). I sat with bestie Marcos at Hôtel de Crillon before sucking down sparkling water to avoid what I expected was the inevitable. And then, quicker than even I’d anticipate, it began…