“So what was she wearing today?” I ask my husband Skip.“She had on her blue Immigration Service blouse -- the top three buttons were undone -- skin-tight Capri pants, and high heels. She looked great.”
I knew Skip would notice her outfit when he went to see if his visa was ready. I had seen her myself. She’s a cute young woman who processes visa applications at the local immigration office, and she manages to make a dowdy uniform look sexy.
As an over-60 New Englander whose raciest clothing is from L.L. Bean, I am sometimes startled by the way Mexican women dress. In a bank or law firm I’m used to seeing conservative business attire, but here the women look like they’re ready for a hot date. At our Mexican lawyer’s office I was fascinated by the outfits on the female office assistants: see-through green blouses with lacy black bras underneath. We’re not in WASP-y Connecticut anymore!
The women in San Pancho often wear clothes that expose a lot of skin. Yes, it’s hot on Mexico’s Pacific coast, but all that cleavage isn’t about keeping cool. I think the style of dress reflects an attitude about femininity: I like what I’ve got and I’m not afraid to show it off. Flirtation is fun.
I recall watching one of my Spanish teachers dance at a San Pancho music fiesta. While swaying and turning to a flamenco rhythm, she was breastfeeding her infant son. Nothing immodest about it. “How does she manage all that?” I wondered. “She takes womanliness to a new level!”
Maybe the comfort women here have with femininity is a counterpart to the traditional machismo of the culture. I haven’t figured it out, but I kind of envy their confident, uninhibited style.
Skip will go back to the immigration office again this week. Five trips so far, and still no visa. But I haven’t heard a word of complaint.
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