It is a Wednesday evening in Buenos Aires. The sun has set, rush hour is calming and the cartoneros are appearing on the streets to collect the city’s cardboard. It is also the hour of the ‘After Office Party’ in the rather chic Terrazas Del Este, the only place to be seen on Wednesday evening in the Buenos Aires scene, darling.
Before moving on to tell the rest of this story, a brief disclaimer: we all know that not all clubs and bars are like that which I’m about to describe. That they exist is worth recognition, so here is a brief and slightly Bridget Jones-y series of reflections and a few words of encouragement for all of those slightly intimidated by the scenario, like I have been. That said, on with my story…
I arrive with my Colombian friend, it is raining and my hair resembles soggy grass. My friend’s hair is perfect thanks to her ingenious umbrella plan. Upon arrival, the first item of business is the bathroom. However, there is a hideously long queue. I realize the queue is actually for that very same mirror space that I’m after. Looking around, the other women in the bathroom all seem to have perfect breasts on very petite frames. Bah! These perfectly coiffed women are improving an already beautiful palette, while I am left to make the best of a somewhat soggy situation. “I can handle this,” I think to myself, begrudgingly.
Outside, the dance floor appears to be more of a pose-fest than a place for dancing. The drinks are very expensive, so I feel guilty indulging in too much liquid courage. To make matters worse, I can barely understand English in a noisy dance club, making my Spanish a total goner. I just tend to nod and smile at whatever the men are saying. After politely turning away one potential suitor, a man responds to me, “pero, tengo plata,” (but I have money). He seems wholeheartedly confused as to why I have rejected him, as he is rich. Or is he confusing me for a hooker? Better not.
After once seeing a photo of myself wearing heels, therefore towering over some of my local friends, I usually leave the heels at home. However, the countless girls in this club wearing four-inch heels are a true testimony to the importance of appearances here. Although Argentina is the country of the beef, papas fritas and empanadas, most women appear not to partake in the rich local delicacies. They actually stick to the diets that I last about half a day maintaining before viciously attacking the local kiosko. Perhaps it is the machista culture here where women are valued for how they look and not who they are. Perhaps it is the Italian immigrants who brought with them their flair for beauty. Whatever the cause, one thing is for sure: ride the Subte D line through Palermo or go to chic bars in Las Cañitas and you are sure to be surrounded by these fit and trim beauties. With so much pressure to stay, “just so,” it is not surprising that Argentina leads South America in cosmetic surgery. Hell, even Maradona had plastic surgery to de-wrinkle his face and lipo his double chin!
Recently, my friend told me about the pressure to stay thin. She recounted to me that if you want to have a successful career, thinness is a necessity. She almost found my questions amusing, saying, “Of course there’s pressure to be thin here!” The clothes sizes are constantly getting smaller and smaller. An English size 12 is a large here and I hear that people who are larger find it very hard to find fashionable clothing. She is no larger than a British size 8 but her Argentine cousin tells her that she “has gotten fat.”
Back in the dance club, I was dancing in a confident, carefree manner. Men were definitely interested in this girl whose hips didn’t jut out and who didn’t just use the dance floor for posing purposes. Although certain clubs here in Buenos Aires can be intimidating, I say, “go on ladies…..have a thick, juicy steak and a glass of red wine.” Enjoy who you are, the friends you’ll meet while here in Buenos Aires, and don’t hesitate to join in the fun.
