Puffy Jackets

We have altered our environment to suit ourselves and will continue to do so

In the year 2040, the world was wrapped in a cozy, high-tech embrace. Puffy jackets, once reserved for winter’s bite, had become humanity’s second skin. These weren’t just any jackets—they were ClimaSmart Coats, woven with nanothreads that sensed and regulated body temperature to a perfect 72°F, no matter the weather. Scorching desert heat, arctic gales, or muggy rainforest humidity? The ClimaSmart adjusted instantly, wicking away sweat or generating warmth with micro-heating filaments. People called them “puffies,” and they were as essential as smartphones once were.


Society had changed. Comfort was king. Decades of climate swings—blistering summers, flash freezes, and unpredictable storms—had made people obsessive about staying just right. A mere two degrees off 72°F was enough to spark complaints. “I’m shivering,” someone would mutter at 70°F, reaching for their puffy. “I’m sweltering,” another would groan at 74°F, zipping up. The jackets, with their sleek designs and endless color options, weren’t just practical—they were fashion, status, identity.


In the city of Neo-Vancouver, Lila Chen was a rare oddity. She didn’t wear a puffy. At 28, she preferred the raw feel of the world—breezes, chills, even the occasional sweat. Her friends thought she was unhinged. “Why suffer?” they’d ask, their puffies shimmering with holographic patterns as they sipped coffee in a café kept at a sterile 72°F. Lila would shrug, her breath visible in the slightly-too-cool air. “Feels alive,” she’d say.


One day, a heatwave hit—95°F with 80% humidity. Neo-Vancouver’s streets were a sea of puffies, people waddling comfortably, their jackets humming softly to keep them cool. Lila, in a thin t-shirt, walked to the market, feeling the heat cling to her skin. Passersby stared, some with pity, others with disgust. A kid in a neon-green puffy tugged his mom’s sleeve. “Why’s she sweating?” he whispered, as if Lila had a disease.


At the market, Lila met Ezra, a techie who repaired ClimaSmart Coats. He wore a puffy, but it was patched and glitchy, occasionally venting cold air. “You’re brave,” he said, eyeing her bare arms. “Or crazy.” Lila laughed. “I just like feeling the world. Don’t you ever miss it?” Ezra hesitated, then admitted, “Sometimes. But nobody wants to shiver. Or sweat. Even a little.”


That night, a freak storm rolled in, dropping the temperature to 40°F. Lila, still puffy-free, shivered on her walk home. Ezra caught up with her, his jacket flickering as it tried to compensate. “Try this,” he said, pulling a spare puffy from his bag. “Just for a minute.” Lila sighed but slipped it on. Warmth enveloped her instantly, like sinking into a perfect bath. She hated to admit it, but it felt… good. Too good.


The next day, Lila wore the puffy. Just for the morning, she told herself. But by noon, she hadn’t taken it off. The world felt softer, safer. No chills, no sweat—just 72°F perfection. Her friends nodded approvingly. “Finally,” they said. Days turned into weeks, and Lila’s bare-armed rebellion faded. She customized her puffy with violet accents and a built-in music player. It was convenient. It was comfortable.


One evening, Ezra invited her to a rooftop party. The city glittered below, and the air was crisp—65°F. Everyone’s puffies glowed, syncing with the music’s beat. Lila felt a pang, remembering how she used to love the bite of a cool night. She unzipped her puffy, letting the air hit her skin. A few partygoers gasped. “You’ll shiver,” one warned. Lila smiled. “Maybe I want to.”


Ezra joined her, unzipping his own glitchy jacket. They stood there, feeling the breeze, the slight chill raising goosebumps. It wasn’t perfect. It was better. Around them, the puffy-clad crowd danced on, oblivious to the world they’d insulated themselves from. Lila and Ezra exchanged a look. Tomorrow, they might wear their puffies again. But tonight, they’d feel the air—two degrees off, and gloriously alive.