I'm Officially Out On The Weather Of Chicago

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Today is Tuesday, May 19th, 2025. Yes, Tuesday, MAY 19TH and it’s 54 degrees in Chicago. Fifty-four. How is this even possible? We’re halfway through May, and I’m still wearing a jacket outside like it's early March. I’ve had enough. This nonsense should’ve ended weeks ago.

There’s nothing consistent about the weather in Chicago. Absolutely nothing. Just two days ago, it felt like summer had arrived for good. It was a perfect 78 degrees, clear skies, that golden sun beaming down like a spotlight from heaven. People were out in full force, shorts, sunglasses, patios packed, music in the air. It was one of those “this is why I live here” kind of days. And now? Flash forward just 48 hours and we’re right back in this cold, gray limbo. Jackets on. Windows closed. Heat maybe even kicking in for some.

And listen, I get it, 54 degrees can feel amazing after enduring a brutal Chicago winter. It’s all relative, I know. But that logic has a shelf life. That whole “54 feels like 78” delusion? It should’ve expired in April. We’re well past the grace period now. By mid May, we should be done negotiating with the weather. We should be committed. We should be outside without checking the forecast every five minutes like it’s a coin toss.

How can Chicago claim the crown as the best summer city in America when it can’t even make up its mind by late May? It’s not just annoying, it’s personal. Last summer was magical. Truly the best stretch of time I’ve ever experienced. Every single day felt like a dream. I’d walk outside and think, this is what life is supposed to feel like. That perfect mix of warmth, sun, and energy in the city made me fall in love with Chicago all over again.

But this year? This weird, dragged out “transition” phase is testing me. It’s like Chicago’s playing games. Teasing us with one perfect day, then pulling the rug out from under us with a 20-degree drop and gray skies. It’s emotional rollercoaster, and I’m over it. Either let me stick it in or don’t, stop teasing me. 

I’m not asking for much, just a little consistency. That’s all. No more of this rollercoaster where we go from 75 and sunny straight into 53 and cloudy. That routine has run its course. 

Make up your damn mind, Chicago. If it’s summertime, be summertime. If it’s not, then stop toying with me and everyone else in this city. We need a declaration. Perhaps a Batman like signal that when we see it in the sky we know Summer Time Chi has begun. The people deserve to know when Summer Time Chi officially begins. Because this limbo? This waiting game? It’s exhausting.

And honestly, I’m not sure how many more 54-degree mornings I can take.