Colombian Fashion

I by no means have a keen eye for style and fashion, but there are two distinctive trends that caught my attention among Colombian women. One I get, one baffles me beyond comprehension. Whether augmented or natural, perky or saggy, Colombian women shamelessly show off their boobs so much that it makes even the sluttiest of American girls look conservative. This is the one I get. A timelessly proven winner that has attracted the gaze of men since the invent of the wheel, or at least alcohol. What is shocking to see, is both the degree to which the rack is revealed and the seemingly lack of importance of the attractiveness of said rack. From silicon-filled push up bras that nearly block the esophagus, to gravity stricken saggers that drop below the waistline, Colombian boobs are in your face. Mesh shirts with only bras underneath are common. The cleavage line, that’s novelty leads to arousal in the States, not to mention an uncovered shoulder or ear lobe that turns a man on in many more conservative cultures, is hardly worth a second glance in Colombia. The sight of bottom boob and the concave chest valley in between two mountains cause no surprise, and unless you see nipple, which is not out of the realm of possibility, all is fair fashion game.

The other trend, which I Rea-ea-ea-lly (Dr. Cox from Scrubs, not Ace Ventura) don’t get, is the ridiculous shaving, plucking or waxing of eyebrows so you can redraw them on the way you wished they had originally looked. In this age of cosmetic enhancement and purchasable beauty I understand the concept of materialistic alteration, but there is a major flaw in this idiotic trend….. your new eyebrows have NO HAIR! You look like a freaking clown. This is the equivalent of a bald guy taking a Sharpy to his head, but worse…..because he is only bald cause he waxed off his original hair to begin with. Do they think people don’t notice that where there is suppose to be a natural and tangible substance we call hair, there is now just a immaculately drawn and symmetrically placed line? Unlike the enhancement or just blatant showing off the aforementioned important feature in the minds of most guys, eyebrows are sex-less and forgettable, with only one important characteristic; that they exist. Wax a uni-brow, pluck a bushy brow, even dye a brow with unflattering tint, but to give up the actual texture of an eyebrow for the perfect color, symmetry and fineness is utterly moronic. I am so dumbfounded by the fashion logic of this one that it has now edged out smoking cigarettes on my “things you can due to ensure I will never date you” list.

As I said before, and my friends and former girlfriends would attest to, I am far from a fashion genius. I am rarely tuned in to my own fashion statements, and much less those of others. Unless it is eye-popping bustiness that brings me back to the days of late night Cinemax, or a painted on face that takes me to images of a Bozo the Clown birthday party, style is lost on me. In my own dress I frequently opt for personal comfort over aesthetically pleasing. Even in the States I will wear sweat pants rather than jeans, flip flops to clubs, and sometimes look like I must be going to or coming from the gym despite rarely working out. Here I am similarly out of touch with what I probably should be wearing. I have given up on blending in and frequently stumble through the Centro in my American style cargo shorts, flip-flops and T-shirts attracting more attention than I want, but oh-so comfortable in the heat. Though self-conscious in both definitions; being aware of how one fits into the world around them and thus not a completely oblivious idiot, and the more traditionally used nervousness and unnecessary preoccupation and over-analysis of how one is perceived, I frequently fail to include my fashion statements in the neurosis. The other day I was on the Metro to go to play basketball when it was pointed out that with my Red and White shoes, Red shorts, and Blue and White jersey I looked the American flag…..carrying a basketball. Classic Gringo. A day later I unintentionally found myself wearing a Brazil T-shirt, a Brazil backpack, Havaianas, and carrying a soccer ball. It took me a while to grasp why people were greeting me in broken Portuguese. Self-conscious, but still an oblivious idiot in my fashion statements. But I have hair everywhere where it should be, and only show off my augmented yet still saggy junk when socially appropriate.