Why I Will Never Be As Cool as An Argentine

When I'm in places with a lot of tourists, I like to play the game "Argentine or American?" Sometimes, it's easy, like when the Americans are dressed in "University of Kansas" sweatshirts and madras shorts, or when they're talking loudly about whether they have time to visit Puerto Madero before lunch.

But even when I can't hear what people are saying, I'm right most of the time. It's not because Americans are (necessarily) easy to spot — despite the stereotypes of Americans abroad, the United States is a diverse country. Some people blend in better than others. The real giveaway is that the Argentines look so Argentine.

I've been trying to figure out exactly what that means. It's definitely nothing inherent to people's physical appearance. There's almost no racial diversity here, and everyone looks like they came over three months ago from Italy or Spain: dark hair, light skin, brown eyes. Ojos claros and pelo rubio are rare and highly prized. (And, for me, part of the package that makes me feel like I have a blinking "Foreigner" sign on my back, although there are some people of Germanic descent here as well.)

Then there are the obvious things: mullets, skinny jeans, graphic t-shirts with nonsensical phrases in English. (Merry Christmas for you Geisha? WTF?) There might be a rule that Argentines need to buy a pair of Chuck Taylors upon entering high school, and maybe one in every four young people has some kind of facial piercing. The most popular one is the Monroe, a little black stud around the smile parentheses, meant to look like a mole. My personal favorite clothing item are bombachas, which are cotton sweatpants that puff out at the top and are tight around the ankles. Basically, Hammer Pants.

Sometimes I try to dress like an Argentine. My Argentine disguise, as I call it, usually involves leggings and a black skirt or dress with a cardigan and a scarf. I almost always wear my Chucks, to the point that their insteps are shredded and they're almost sandals. Also, the mecha (it's purple now!) helps.

The best way I can describe it is to say the entire 20-something population of Argentina dresses like American hipsters. It's like the 1980s were resurrected with a sense of irony and a slightly muted palette. Of course, for people like Mom who don't know a hipster from a hippie, that isn't very helpful. In any case there's still something missing. My disguise never works.