As the holidays roll around, and with just one week left of the term, I catch myself thinking about my origins. As a third culture kid, it’s difficult for me to identify with a single location. My mother is American, my father is Argentine, I grew up in three countries (each in a different continent) and five cities. Yet amidst all the moving, there’s one place that has always stayed the same and shaped the way that I approach situations.
Villalonga, pronounced “Vee-shah-long-gah,” is my father’s hometown, population 5,000 people. Villalonga is located in northern Patagonia, Argentina. My dad was born to a Bolivian father, whose mother crossed the Bolivian-Argentine border with eight children to escape domestic violence; and an Argentine mother, daughter to two Spanish immigrants. Thinking back to my Villalonga visits, my earliest memories begin with dance and makeup.
At three years old, my Tía––a dance teacher––brought me into her flamenco class in la casa de la cultura. My favorite part about these classes is that I wore flamenco shoes that made a loud noise when I stomped my feet. I remember falling in love with the big flamenco hoop earrings and flowy skirt that my Tía wore to the class, and, of course, her shoes.
The second-earliest memory I have is of my cousin Ana. I remember her dressing me up and applying bright red lipstick on me during my endless Villalonga summers. Ana has always had a timeless taste in fashion, and, despite having never graduated high school and her constant job-switching, she has always impressed me with her ability to put on an authentic outfit.
From my experiences with my Tía and Ana, I have questioned what fashion entails. Is fashion about the brand name, or the sense of confidence that a woman builds from it? For my Tía, her flamenco clothes elevate her perception of her job, while Ana’s style has given her confidence, hiding her insecurities about having no high school diploma. For me, I dress to confront situations that make me anxious.
The day my father took me to meet his friend, a senior partner at a top law firm in New York, I needed to look the part. My accessory that day was a sticky-note in my pocket with an already-memorised list of questions. I put on my favorite pair of tight black pants, a blouse, and my new jacket; I perceive lawyers as dressing crisply.
I know my audience and can anticipate exactly the look that I need to present with such precision that even I find myself flabbergasted. In high school, as I headed to my Saturday dance practices, I used to glance in the hallway mirror at my black leggings, sneakers, and leotard, and think ‘wow, I look like someone during their Dancing with the Stars practice.’
My ability to dress the part is in tune with my ability to connect with anyone within 30 seconds. Where am I from? Well, if you are European I would definitely tell you I am Spanish by nationality. If you are American then I would definitely highlight my New Yorker origins. If you are Latin American, I would definitely bring up my Argentine father and six year long Chilean residence. I’d be shocked if I ever gave the same response to this question twice.
The outfit I am saving is buried at the back of my closet. I have worn each of these pieces before, but never together: my favorite pair of tight black pants, black over-the-knee heeled boots, and a black poncho. I envision myself wearing this complete outfit years from now, as I board a plane, but I still need to buy a bright red suitcase.
When I wear this outfit, I will be a businesswoman on my way to negotiate new renewable energy opportunities abroad. I will be exploring the middle ground between low-income consumers and firms offshoring abroad, to moderate the impacts of business decisions on low-income consumers. My relatives in Villalonga are exactly those people lacking a voice at the negotiation table, and I guarantee I’ll put on Ana’s bright red lipstick as I enter the office that day.
