Hello there. Happy Halloween. I see you’ve noticed I’m wearing a sweater. Yes, I realize it’s ninety degrees, but I do not care. It is late October—the height of sweater season. And even though climate change has rendered this traditionally crisp time of year sickeningly humid, I will wear this sweater.

Yes, I am extremely uncomfortable. No, I will not be taking the sweater off.

Late October is the time to wake up, throw a sweater on in the morning, sit on the front porch, and enjoy the fall air with a nice, steaming cup of coffee. So that’s what I will do, even if the fall air is not so much crisp as it is gooey. I will sit in the heat, drink my piping-hot beverage, and pretend it is warming me to my core and not pushing my body dangerously close to a heat stroke.

I refuse to carve pumpkins in a tank top. I will not pick apples in shorts. I will do fall activities in knit sweaters and wool socks, and I will live with the resulting body fungi. This is my pledge.

Why do this to myself, you may ask. Why commit myself to moistness? Why subject myself to humiliating sweat stains? Why? Because this is the only weapon at my disposal. I am but one man. I cannot reshape global climate policy. I cannot hold polluting corporations responsible. I cannot make the powers that be care about the very real and present consequences of their apathy toward the environment. All I can do is meticulously rinse hummus containers and wear this sweater in the face of insurmountable odds. I sweat for humanity. I smell funky for all of us. This is the battle I have chosen. This cotton blend is my only weapon.

Long has our society known the phenomena of a man insisting upon wearing shorts no matter how cold it is outside, but in our rapidly warming world, a new generation of inappropriate dresser will emerge. I am the vanguard of that generation. I am the guy who wears a sweater no matter how warm it is. Recognize me.

There will be more of us. Anywhere it’s unseasonably warm, we’ll be there. And as the globe continues to heat and the seas rise to our waists, we will be there. We will refuse to put on the more practical flip-flops and bathing suits as we take to our flooded streets. We will stand strong. We will stand damp. We will stand sweatered.

I think I need to sit down.