I like to keep my hair in an obvious shade of fake, bleach blonde. I feel that it helps maintain an heir of white-trash as I find myself in an, at times, hostile atmosphere of civilized Swiss. As if to say, “I’m not too particular.” Bottle-blonde communicates just the right amount of tawdriness that a person could meet me and think, “Now this looks like a girl that enjoys a helping of spare ribs.” And you know what? I do.
I also strongly feel that the right pair of flip flops in the grocery store can speak volumes. Flips flops suggest, “At any minute, on any ol’ day I could be inclined to sit on the porch, have a drink, and talk about the neighbors.” You see, I’ve found that who I am makes these Swiss both comfortable and uncomfortable, simultaneously. Because, no, Switzerland, I won’t give-in to your ironed-jeans expectations, but I’d love to have you over for some BBQ sometime!