There is no right answer.
It’s too cold for short sleeves.
It’s too hot for tights.
You wore a vest and now it’s soup time in your ribcage.
This is the month where fashion dies, chamois dreams rot, and everyone on the road looks like a crisis in cleats.
Every decision is the wrong one
Start with the forecast. It says 11°C. Great.
Except that means nothing. Is it 11 and sunny or 11 and damp with a side of emotional collapse?
You stand in your hallway like you’re choosing battle armour.
Long sleeve? Too warm.
Base layer? Maybe just mesh?
Gloves? Which gloves? There are five types and none of them feel right.
You put something on. You immediately regret it.
You change. You regret that, too.
You leave the house with three layers you will later remove and stuff into a pocket the size of a granola bar.
What you see out there
On the road, it’s pure chaos:
– A man in thermal bibs and a short-sleeve jersey, looking like a misplaced emoji
– Someone wearing a full waterproof cape and sunglasses
– A woman in gilet, arm warmers, knee warmers, and leg warmers, defying biology
– A rider in shorts and bare arms, steam rising from their body like roadkill tea
– Someone in full ski gear doing 150 watts and refusing to make eye contact
You’re not judging. You’re just glad it’s not you.
(Except it is you. You look like a bin bag full of hot yoghurt.)
The gilet is a lie
The cycling gilet was invented to provide core warmth and wind protection.
In November, it becomes a psychological burden. You keep it on too long. Then not long enough. Then back on. Then unzip it halfway like a confused marsupial.
It flaps in the wind. It makes you sweat. It’s the emotional support garment of the indecisive.
You don’t need it. But you don’t not need it.
It stays on out of fear, habit, and mild shame.
Pockets are now your main form of storage and identity
You’re carrying:
– Full-finger gloves
– Short-finger gloves
– Arm warmers
– Leg warmers
– Gilet
– Buff
– Possibly a small dog
Every stop is now a frantic game of textile origami.
You have become a mobile soft-shell closet with snacks.
Your jersey no longer fits. Your back is shaped like a baguette.
You’ve dropped one glove but can’t go back. That glove is dead to you now.
Just commit to looking ridiculous
There is no perfect outfit. Only survival.
The best-dressed cyclist in November is the one who makes it home not crying and not chafing.
Forget the rules. Wear the thermal hat. Double-sock it. Put on that weird windproof thing that makes you look like an off-duty superhero.
No one looks good.
No one feels good.
The weather is testing your spirit and your seams.
Ride anyway!
