On Style and Sass in Southeast Asia

So I've spent nearly the past two months of the year wilting in the tropical sun, suffering from a list of maladies that include heatstroke, heat rash, the common cold, vomiting, t.d., mosquito bites and of course, sunburn. Not that I'm complaining. In addition to the discovery of just how miserable my own body can make me, I've come to the realization that I am a distinctly unstylish traveller.

I was first reminded of this during my first few days in Bangkok, notably in Siam Square. A mecca for uber-trendy students, even the average college girl uniform (navy pencil skirt - stylish belt optional - and fitted white blouse with the collar unbuttoned in the most flattering fashion) is enough to make me feel like a frumpy, sweaty and boring nobody. Sit on a bench in this part of the city and the people-watching makes your heart clench with envy at the sight of the outfits, the heels, the flats, all put-together in the most fashion-forward (though often outrageous) manner. Meanwhile, I suck on a green sugary concoction in a moist Suzy Shier tank top and wrinkled Bermuda shorts, accessorized with a patchy sunburn and frizzed out ponytail. Hey, I got these sandals at Payless and I don't care that they imbed dirt between my toes and into my cracked heels! And so it goes.

Several people I've encountered along the way have asked me what I miss most about Canada and without missing a beat I reply, my hairdryer. And I'm not even trying to make a joke about how superficial girls are. On our tropical island get-away, I met a British boy who kept an 1800 watt hairdryer and a ceramic straightener hanging pristinely on hooks in his wooden bungalow. And I'm going, yeah so instead of making out, can I straighten my hair!? I've adopted the somewhat universal traveller's look of messy ponytail and pinned back bangs, the old 'cross the bobby pins at the crown of your head and go' routine. Some people have said to me, oh you should wear your bangs back sometimes, and I'm like, right. Here it's the easiest, and only, way to maintain that usually highly maintained side-sweep fringe I like to call my own.

Which is why I ogle the straight, shiny hair of these fine Asian specimens, and risk getting hit by a motorbike while checking out some perfectly fitting short-shorts on someone's toothpick legs. I feel so galumphy and blegh with my wardrobe of one t-shirt, 3 tank tops, 2 pairs of shorts to rotate and of course, the Payless sandals. In my case, why does packing light have to equal a bad pompadour and the faint scent of body odour that I convince myself is actually the Nivea Fresh Scent of my deodorant? (The only non-whitening deodorant I could find in the 711, to be clear.) But, let's not get totally depressed about my Felix the Cat t-shirt or my poorly washed, quickly deteriorating black shorts. As much as I admire and yearn for the kind of sassy looks that push by me on the busy streets of S.E. Asia's capitals, I have my own kind of self-esteem boost that follows me everywhere I go.

Despite being constantly stared at by both men and women, (fingers crossed it's not because of my ill-fitting purple Beer Chang shirt) I never have to go far without hearing choruses of "Very beautiful!" or "Lovely skin! So white...." Women frequently come up to me and compare their arms to mine, amazed by the contrast of brown to white (or pink, depending on the day). They like to stroke me, or giggle shyly while staring blatantly, or quiz me about my lack of boyfriend. All I can say is, "No, you're wrong, I'm not beautiful, you are!" I hate how highly they value the white skin, how desperately they wish for this pale burden of mine. The drugstore shelves are lined with whitening and brightening products, even a pink nipple enhancer! Meanwhile, gorgeous, young Asian women are clinging to paunchy, middle-of-the-road North American men in an order to enhance their lives, boost their status, something like that I'm told, anyway. I understand in a sort of factual way that this is often the only way to gain any sort of financial security. Average monthly wage for a waitress? Approximately $60 US dollars. And I whine when someone only tips 10% on a $250 meal during service.

In less than a week I can blow-dry my hair until it turns to straw if I like. I'll easily pay back the hundreds of dollars I spent getting custom-made everything in Hoi An, pay back my mom for the money she transferred when my ATM card wouldn't work, when I insisted on extending this unstylish jaunt throughout this part of the world. Echoes of 'very beautiful!' will follow me, and so will hundreds of white dudes accompanied by their new arm candy, their Asian play-things that they bought for cheap and claim to love.