Hot or Not

Even though I'm under 30, judging only by my clothes, I’m 80 years old. In Spain, everyone younger than that has a thong poking out, shorts that barely count as butt covers, and enough cleavage to make the Grand Canyon look pretty lame. Before we moved here, I worried about looking the part of the “Ugly American,” but my clothes, of course, stick out like a sore thumb due to my belief in modesty.

My sisters-in-law, who share my religion, can’t quite figure out why I wear tankinis and one pieces at the beach, my shorts and skirts reach my knees, and my shirts have sleeves. I can understand their confusion due to the fact that it gets blazing hot here, so the skimpiness does have some logic behind it. 

As a matter of fact, I’ve discovered a lot of the incomprehensible fashion choices here have a reason besides “la moda.” Take, for instance, the obsession with tight pants. While there is absolutely no reason why said pants should be see-through or so close-fitting that you can see every smidgeon of cellulite, there is a certain amount of sense to wearing clothes that don’t drag on the ground. Considering how much crap (literally) occupies the sidewalks here, high heels and form-fitting clothes are a smart move.

That being said, I don’t own a pair of skinny jeans or high heels. I left all my shoes in storage. But, as I hiked around yesterday in my knee shorts, t-shirt, and white running shoes, I realized I am the picture of the unfashionable American and I can live with that.