Oh, DC.

It's 60 degrees.

It's sunny.

It's dry.

And, it's Friday.

When I stepped out my door this morning in black skinny jeans, snakeskin t-strap flats, pouf-sleeved tailored oxford shirt, silver/black/ivory brocade 3/4-sleeve mid-weight showpiece coat and wide black headband, I thought for sure I would catch my first glimpse of spring wear -- inspired spring wear. It's the day we're allowed to be inspired, after all, right?

But in the five blocks I strutted to work taking in an on-the-go mix of Journey ("Separate Ways"), Chicago ("Saturday in the Park") and Survivor ("The Search is Over") - to me, the soundtrack of early Spring - I saw a landscape of nothing but the same boxy black overcoats, scuffed square-toed boots, dry, cracked hands and pasty cheeks.

"Am I the only one who wears bronzer in this city?" I thought to myself, remembering with pride - and admiring in the reflective glass at Palette on 15th and M - how near-professionally I'd applied my swipes of Goddess this morning.

But then, literally steps from the garish gold trim of my office building, I saw something promising. Very promising. Waiting at the intersection of ConnAve and M, a young woman no older than 25, was not only in a great pair of skinny-heeled faux croc platform peep-toes but the new DvF Roberts dress as well. Don't let the model in the picture fool you into thinking this is a minidress, because it's not. The hem hit the woman's knees right to the caps, and she was about 5'8."

Unfortunately, every ray of sunshine has it's thunderstorm, and in this case, it was her supremely bad heel-walk -- she was a wobbly, amateurish clomp-clomp-clomper.

It's early in the season, though, and I'll take what bit of inspiration I can get.