Why Do I Still Live in Chicago? Blame My Grandfather and Neiman Marcus
People ask me all the time: Why do you live in Chicago when the weather is absolute garbage? And I get it. The winters will freeze your soul, the summers will melt your brain, and there’s about two weeks of tolerable weather in between. But the answer is simple: I didn’t choose Chicago—Chicago was chosen for me.
The Italian Tailor Who Set My Fate
My grandfather was a tailor. A damn good one. When he emigrated from Italy, he wanted to be where the best Italian tailors were. And back then, if you wanted to work with the best, you went to Neiman Marcus.
Problem was, there was no Neiman Marcus in Florida. No California sunshine for him. No Arizona desert warmth. He planted himself right here in Chicago, with the rest of the Italian tailors, stitching suits and braving the cold. And because he stayed, my father stayed. And because my father stayed, I’m still here too—suffering through Chicago’s four-month-long blizzards and its humid, mosquito-infested summers.
Chicago’s Weather: A Never-Ending Battle
For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing it, let me break it down.
Winter: The Frozen Wasteland
It’s not just cold—it’s bone-crushing. We’re talking temperatures that regularly dip below 0°F (-18°C), with wind chills that make it feel like -30°F (-34°C).
Snow? Yeah, we don’t get a light dusting—we get buried alive. A foot (30 cm) overnight? Totally normal.
The wind doesn’t just blow, it attacks. It cuts through every layer of clothing you have and makes stepping outside feel like a test of willpower.
Summer: The Oppressive Sauna
The second winter ends, Chicago turns into a hot, sticky swamp.
Temperatures soar to 90-100°F (32-38°C), but thanks to humidity, it feels like a wet blanket is suffocating you.
The mosquitoes? Relentless. They don’t care about bug spray. They don’t care about long sleeves. They just come for blood.
Spring and Fall: The Short-Lived Mirage
One day it’s 75°F (24°C), the next it’s 45°F (7°C) and raining sideways.
Fall lasts about two weeks before winter slaps you in the face.
So Why Do I Stay?
Because this is home. Because my family put down roots here, and roots are hard to rip up. Because Chicago—despite its awful weather—has a toughness that I respect. The food is world-class. The people don’t take crap from anyone. And deep down, maybe I like the challenge of surviving this weather every year.
Or maybe I just have Stockholm Syndrome. Either way, I’m here—freezing in the winter, sweating in the summer, and blaming my grandfather for picking a city where the weather actively tries to kill you.
