February 16, 1870, was a nice day in Seattle. In early afternoon, it was 55 degrees with clear skies—not bad for midwinter. Not that there were many Seattleites there to enjoy it; in 1870 there were just over a thousand people living in a city that had yet to be shaped by the Great Fire of 1889, the Denny Regrade, the Klondike Gold Rush, or a world’s fair. Or statehood, for that matter.

But James E. Whitworth, 30 years old, measured the temperature at his home at what’s now Yesler and Third Avenue, writing it on a form he’d send to the Smithsonian. The report was Seattle’s first official weather record.

James and his wife, Lidie, would be Seattle’s weather reporters for less than two years. Gradually, the city’s cast of professional temperature takers and forecast creators would grow significantly. Today the city has a 25-person National Weather Service office operating in a NOAA building in Sand Point. 

Seattle, meanwhile, would grow a reputation as America’s rainy city.

Think Tom Hanks dashing through the downpour in Sleepless in Seattle, and Meg Ryan being told, “It rains nine months out of the year in Seattle.” Tom Robbins, a novelist in Skagit Valley, would write, “There is no weeping that can compete with the northwest rains.” In Clueless, Cher would eye a flannel shirt and chirp, “Is that a nod to the crispy Seattle weather?”

But anyone who lives a year or a lifetime in Seattle knows that a sunny, mid-50s day in February isn’t exactly rare. Last year, the city had just 132 days with rain, according to meteorologist Scott Sistek. That’s in the top 10 fewest rainy days here since the records started.

“Our reputation is pretty bad, but I’ve been to other parts of the country,” says Jay Albrecht, retired lead forecaster at Seattle’s NWS office. “It’s really not bad here,” with no uncomfortable high or low temperatures. 

There are a few reasons why Seattle’s actual and reputational weather are so different, but if the city has a lower annual rainfall than New York City—our 38 inches to the Big Apple’s 50—a question arises: Why doesn’t Seattle clear its drippy reputation? 

There’s the old saw that too many people would move to Seattle if they knew it wasn’t all that rainy (“I don’t want it to get out,” admits Albrecht), but the city’s population boom would beg to differ. 

Or there’s the fact that, while the city’s frequent cloud cover may not be the same as measurable precipitation, its dreary vibes might as well be rain. Given our latitude, even on a sunny winter day it’s dim after 4pm.

And in December, an atmospheric river barreled onto Washington’s shores and reminded the state just how serious rain can be. Devastating floods ripped apart roadways, whole farms went underwater, and at least one house floated down a river. As the governor declared a statewide emergency, it didn’t seem to matter much that we had more than 30 days over 80 degrees a few months earlier.

Then again, our reputation might also be the product of something more simple. The rain is a badge of honor, just like the umbrellas we claim not to use. It keeps our trees evergreen and our waterways plentiful. The rain has a kind of goth, contrarian cred. And it may just be that we’re only happy when it rains.