Saturday, September 12, 2009

Screaming USofA in Flip-Flops

I’ll start by saying that I have nothing against flip-flops. Sincerely. They make a comfy, incredibly economical concept for our feet. I remember back in high school and college when flip-flops identified a person. This is when designers and marketers got smart and somehow succeeded (and still do) in selling a $50 contraption of rubber and toe floss to a certain niche. First there was Reef, and then there was Rainbow, and then the 20 different colors from Old Navy for $3 a pair which some only donned post-pedicure. Now I have no idea what’s going on in the flip-flop scene of the United States, but I do know that they have continued to remain popular among university study abroad students at least. Of course, South Americans are not unaware of flip-flops. And yes, they even have their own word (actually, two) which will be your W(s)OTD:

chancleta [chan-clay’-tah]: flip-flop

ojota [o-ho’-tah]: flip-flop

The thing is…chancletas here are not considered acceptable for everyday wear around the city. I learned this the hard way during my second week in Buenos Aires. At the end of my first date with an Argentine, it started to rain. And then pour. It was summer, and I had put on a skimpy pair of ojotas without thinking twice. We dashed across the street to get to my bus stop (jay“dashing”, of course). I stepped up on the curb, and BAM. I was on my bottom in a puddle. I could have blamed it on clumsiness, but it was more likely a mix of that and my no-traction chancletas. The Argentine didn’t really know how to react. He had most likely never seen a woman fall on her butt due to her own lack of grace and the inability to choose appropriate footwear. (I have yet to see an Argentine woman under the age of 70 fall on the sidewalk.) Nevertheless, he gave me his arm and then never called again.

It bothers me in the least if foreigners want to stick out like sore thumbs before their lips even part. And when I see two guys walking down the avenue in shorts and ojotas in 60° weather, I can practically sniff the United States spirit (and their feet, of course).