GLACIER CHIC “I told you so”: USB heated jacket guy rises from the ashes of workplace humiliation
BY: Kartya Vucetic
History has been made today as the one man in every Sydney office who owns an electric heated jacket is, for the first time ever, being taken seriously.
As a vicious cold front tears across the state, with wind gusts hitting 100km/h and temperatures dropping to single digits, James from mid-level risk consulting has emerged vindicated, smugly zipped into his USB-powered torso toaster.
“It’s giving thermally conscious thought leader,” James told So Sydney!, while sipping a lukewarm long black and holding his jacket’s remote like it’s a Tesla key. “People used to laugh. Now they’re asking what setting I’m on.”
In the Inner West, locals were quick to claim spiritual ownership of the cold, declaring it “deeply vibey” and pulling out trench coats they thrifted in Lisbon for this exact moment. One Newtown resident was spotted sipping a turmeric oat latte in the park, whispering “this is so Paris-core” while visibly shivering through a linen scarf.
The Lisbon flea market in question | Image: Ola Daniela
Over in Bondi, locals leaned hard into denial and dopamine, with at least three separate barefoot men spotted doing Wim Hof breathing exercises on the sand while insisting they “haven’t felt this alive since Bali.” Joggers, meanwhile, braved the coastal gale in short shorts and wet hair, declaring it “invigorating” before being swept into a hedge mid-stride. Pilates studios remain at capacity, with some now branding their sessions “arctic reformer.”
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In the CBD, finance bros have entered Phase Two of winter layering, North Face puffers over Kathmandu vests. One was overheard at Barangaroo muttering “triple fleece, triple yield” while ordering a miso broth. The Google search for ‘glacier-chic’ has increased by 200% since 9am.
The Bureau of Meteorology has issued multiple warnings, but most Sydneysiders ignored them in favour of sending each other screenshots of the weather app and saying “wtf” six times in a row.
At time of publishing, James’ jacket had fully short-circuited from overuse, prompting coworkers to once again call him a dickhead.
