the league of extraordinarily chic women

I imagine city officials undercover at Central Station, at the tram stops at the bus stops. Agents keeping a watchful eye at the harbor, at city limits. People stationed at all the schools, and at the university of Amsterdam - all paying close attention for any signs of chic women. And when chicness is identified, or potential is seen, the woman is tapped into a secret society of chic women, given a card and a bicycle, and instructed to ride – always ride – the cobbled streets of Amsterdam.

That’s the only way I can explain it – all the chic girls on bikes. With their thin, wispy scarves billowing in the wind, knee-high boots over scuffed jeans, knit cap or beret covering close-cropped or curly hair, and always a courier bag never a purse, with some kind of custom stitching.

I don’t count the tourists, of course – they make up a large number of bike riders. But you can always tell them apart because they are typically not chic. Or because they travel in packs, and they all have red or yellow rental bikes.

But that’s one of the things I love about this city. The thousands of bicycles, the protected bike lanes, the bicycle street signals. I suppose in a city so small, and with so little parking, riding a bike makes perfect sense – but it’s a great big change coming from Houston. And I love it.

So ride on, you extraordinarily chic women of Amsterdam, and pedal proud – I’ll wear your wristband any day.