Hippylitus, a severe infliction that turns one into a hippy.
I never thought this will happen to me, 6 months ago I was wearing pencil skirts and heels. My outfits sometimes coordinated down to my underwear. I judged other people by what they wore, brown and black together? I’m not sure we can be friends anymore.
But here I am 6 months into traveling and I’ve lost all right to judge.
Right now I’m wearing hiking boots covered in dust and what might or might not be bird poo. Khaki combat pants that's gotten low in the crotch, a grey and blue Peruvian jumper, you know the kind with llamas and patterns all over it.
And like all good backpackers I’ve got accessories, a leather cuff from Brazil, a ratty tattered wish ribbon that's supposed to make my wishes come true when it falls off, I wish it would bloody fall off now and a blue beaded bracelet my friends got me for my birthday.
To round off this random look I’m also wearing a bright yellow sarong as a scarf and I’ve got a pretty pink embroidered handbag from Peru on my person. It’s a whole lot of look. But this is what happens when you have limited options and you get cold, you just layer on whatever is at hand. Patterns and colours matching is distant memory.
People are starting to judge. My friends and family from back home have made some comments, but more disconcertingly I had a tiny local laugh at me. A little boy of about four pointed and laughed at me. And this is a people who happily embraces colour and pattern, the more of it the better.
The problem is that deep down I still love fashion, I fantasise about my wardrobe back home the way fat girls on a diet dream about chocolate...
Oh well only six more months till I get back in heels. Meanwhile that little Bolivian better watch out I’m bigger than him.
