Taps aff: Glasgow changes personality in the sunshine, but I seethe with rage
Why does everyone else look like they’re glowing while I appear to be drying off from a recent swim?
As I waited for the train to whisk me out of my sleepy suburb on a drizzly July day, I was beginning to regret not bringing a jacket.
But as we arrived at Glasgow Central 22 minutes later, the sun had soaked up any evidence of rain, and the humidity had turned my sleek hair into a big frizzy ball. If I needed further proof that the weather had turned, a slew of men strolled past showcasing their already sunburnt naked chests, T-shirts scrunched in one hand, tepid pints in the other. It was officially “taps-aff weather” in Scotland.
Under the station canopy, I rummaged for my sunscreen — the expensive one I’d carefully trialled before fully committing. It was nowhere to be found. Instead I was left with a generic bottle I’d abandoned for leaving a shiny visible cast on my brown skin. But after the sight of raw bodies cooking under the harsh rays, it would have to do.
I joined the throng of summer dresses and shorts in the street, hoping the sunscreen might settle into something that wasn’t a Michael Myers mask just this once. The myth that brown and black skin doesn’t need sun protection was one I’d unlearned in my early 20s, back when a greyish white pallor was the best we could hope for.
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As I snaked my way through the crowds, everyone appeared to be effortlessly soaking up the sun. I was already sweating. My face was damp, the cheap sunscreen stung my eyes and my chubby thighs chafed with enough friction to spark a fire. Why did everyone else look like they were glowing while I appeared to be drying off from a recent swim? Women with perfectly made-up faces, not a hair out of place — how? I’d already wiped off what minimal makeup I had on. I could let my eyeliner form a raccoon mask or I could look sickly, but I refused to do both.
Peeling my blue cotton dress from my sticky body, I found myself arriving at the same familiar conclusion I inevitably reached every time the temperature soared: I love the manic pixie dream girl idea of frolicking in the sunshine, just not the awkward reality of it. Even so, I knew better than to say “It’s too hot” out loud, no matter how much I was suffering — I do not want to be the person to jinx everyone’s good spirits. The cursed phrase had been known to extinguish a banging garden barbecue in seconds.
When the sun comes out in Glasgow, the city’s personality transforms in real time. The square morphs into our version of a piazza, office workers sprawl around like they’re lounging in Milan. More and more men whip off their tops as they claim space on the grass. Open-toed shoes that would normally be considered naive confidently rule the streets.
Glasgow adopts a breezy European vibe — alfresco dining, sunglasses finally functional rather than purely aesthetic. The luminous atmosphere reveals us to be lively creatures, turning cobblestones into catwalks, filtering selfies with a natural golden hue.
Still, as the city changes, I just feel stickier and more harassed. My summer delight fast turns into seething rage, as if the sun were choosing to harness all its power directly on me. Why can’t I simply bask in the luxurious weather like everyone else? Am I defective? Surely, as a literal brown person, my tolerance for heat should be higher — or was that a myth too?
Each time we have a heatwave and I see people cavorting in the sun, I find myself wondering whether Glasgow, or even Britain as a whole, might undergo a complete personality transplant if this weather were permanent. Would we shift from sardonic pragmatists to relentlessly hopeful earnest types? Is our somewhat gloomy disposition simply a reflection of the weather?
Perhaps, but consistent good weather would ruin us, I conclude. We’d likely become insufferable living under stubbornly sunny skies. We need the temperate climate to keep us humble, to stop us from getting too cocky and prevent our dry sense of humour from evaporating into warm air.
As a nation, we tend to be suspicious of joy because unabashed sunny optimism is usually followed by cold reality. Twenty or so degrees truly feels tropical when your base is dreich and disappointing.
The weather doesn’t just mess with our mood or affect our vitamin D stores; it has helped shape who we are as people. We make the most of what we have while we have it, knowing that the glimpses of sunshine to follow will feel more like meteorological mockery, reminding us we’re definitely not the Côte d’Azur.
All in all, it’s probably for the best. Without the constant threat of rain, we’d lose our small talk, our lush scenery and my general self-esteem. No one wants to hang out with a sweaty Michael Myers.
