Winter is always framed as something to be endured. As the days shorten and temperatures drop, we are told to brace ourselves, to fight off excess with deprivation. January comes dressed in diet culture, detoxes, and resolutions. Magazines tell us to slim down, cut out, pare back. Survival itself becomes the metaphor: endure the cold, outlast the snow, white-knuckle it until spring. What if winter is not a season of scarcity, but the most erotic time of year?