The zipper was burning my forehead. But my head was stuck.

"Ouch!" I shrieked, howling with equal parts surprise and pain.

I guess that's what happens when my thermal underwear are in the wash.

In the middle of a recent laundry session, I realized I needed to run to the store, which required slogging against Beijing's winter winds - icy gusts that blast south from Siberia.

I'd just finished the first load, so my already-washed clothes were soggy.

Since we don't have a clothes dryer - they're rare in China - I draped my sweaters over a space heater to rapidly desiccate - and, as a bonus, warm up. I believed the scheme to be quite clever. It seemed more efficient than using a blow-dryer, as some foreign friends do.

What wasn't so smart was donning my sweaters before they'd cooled, so the neck zipper branded a pull-tab-shaped blister into my brow.

The next day, I bought another set of thermals to ensure I never again conduct such folly, whatever my laundry situation.

When I leave my Beijing apartment in winter, I don't wear one pair of thermals - I wear two.

That's over a T-shirt and normal undergarments, and beneath extra trousers, a dress-shirt, up to three sweaters and a jacket. I also put on three pairs of socks, gloves, a hat and a scarf.

And I'm still cold.

Thermals are integral to winter life in Beijing and much of the country.

While I occasionally wore them in my hometown of Traverse City, Michigan, USA - famous for its fierce winters - I consider them necessary in China's capital.

Traverse City's average lows hover around -10 C in the chilliest months, and flurries - engorged by the "lake-effect snow" of Lake Michigan - can swell to settle at chest level. Ice storms occasionally encrust the city within a slick glaze that means outdoor locomotion sometimes requires crawling, rather than walking.

But I didn't wear thermals most winter days in Michigan because I'd spend about 10 seconds walking from heated buildings to my preheated car. I only donned them when stacking firewood, hunting or hiking through forests.

But in Beijing, where I don't have a car, I wear them all day every day from autumn to spring.

What the city lacks in snow, it overcompensates for with wind. And the more snow there is, the fewer cabs there are.

Just before the New Year, I spent nearly two hours hunting for a taxi as snowflakes fluttered like confetti. I'd left the office late, and the buses and subways were no longer running.

I bundled up as usual, including the double-layer of thermals, but was frozen after the first hour of waddling along the streets in search of a ride home.

My idea of hell isn't hot. It's cold. In Beijing, Jack Frost is less of an impish old saint nipping at your nose than a vicious demon chomping every inch of exposed flesh.

After midnight, I hopped a heiche (an illegal taxi) for 90 yuan ($14.50) - more than four times the usual cost of getting home.

The streets were lined with shivering souls prowling for cabs. One youth stood out - she was clad in a miniskirt and convulsing with gelidity. If her goal was to look hot, well, she failed in both senses: She appeared very cold and fairly foolish.

The younger generation of Chinese urbanites shuns thermals - called qiuku (autumn trousers) - because they're considered less-than-stylish.

But if being cool means being cold - make that cryogenic - I'm happy to be square. I'm not willing to suffer that way for fashion.

Speaking of which, I bought a new pair of thermal pants after enduring the zipper burn. I had noticed only the low price and large size in the store. When I put them on at home, my wife pointed out my posterior appeared ... puffy.

I came to realize this pair of thermal pants had a padded rear.

As far as I can guess, this could be for three reasons: They're devised to withstand a lot of sitting; they're designed to keep backsides warm; or, most likely, they're booty-enhancing women's wear.

That leaves me two choices - ditch them or buy a pair for every day of the week. The second option is, at least, still preferable to singeing myself.

Because until the winter season fashion trend in which business casual becomes a snowsuit, boots and an ushanka, I'm wearing thermals - no matter what they look like.

erik_nilsson@chinadaily.com.cn

(China Daily 01/09/2013 page19)