Rat Tales

I just wish all of you could ride the subway here in Buenos Aires. It is an amazing nexus of worlds: old women smoking because the new smoking ban clearly does not apply to them, unwed mothers holding babies while peddling wares such as bus schedules or hair brushes, and old men reading the Communist Manifesto as if they missed something the first time. Of all the social environments I encounter in this city, the subway in Buenos Aires (called the "Subte") is the most enriching. It is also where any savvy ex-pat goes to fully understand the prevailing style in this city. By style, I mean mode, dress, appearence. Everyone looks amazing, down to their socks. Paris has its runways, New York, its Broadway. Buenos Aires has its Subte. Don't dare take the Subte without cheking your teeth, making sure your socks match, or that your dreadlocks are in perfect array. I've never seen people look more fabulous. In the mornings, they're holding on to the handrails, but they're coiffed, nonetheless, and attired to make a princess blush. What have I learned from this subway style? The Rat Tail is IN. All males under thirty want to look like football stars, so the only logical thing to do is grow a gnarly David Beckham-inspired rat tail. So what have I done? I've gone and grown one. Trust me, I'm not proud of it, but how is a self respecting Subte-rider going to go about his business without one? Granted, I've never played soccer, or have wanted to for that matter, but, a guy has to look good on the Subte? right? I hope to keep you updated on the progress of my rat tail. Many thanks to
Sami, my personal rat-tailor.



It's slight now, but you can see my rat tail a-pokin'. Just give it some gestation time.