Don't Lie, You Wanted the Shoes.

During Orientation they gave us this little booklet that contains a section entitled “Culture Shock and its Phases". I didn’t know it was a thing either.

Phase 1: Honeymoon Phase, when you’re like woah omg lights people food no sleep jet lag drunk dehydrated it’s so hot Jesus Christ people are staring at me and I’m not sure yet if it’s a positive or a negative thing but it’s all ok cause I’m surviving in a new culture YAY!

Phase 2: Crisis Phase. I want spaghetti. I want to drink the tap water. I’m sick of hearing tonal languages I don’t understand. Why the fuck are people staring at me. Italy would’ve been better. Shit, I’m going to get my period while I’m here. WHY ARE PEOPLE STARING AT ME. “Tend to be annoying as well as annoyed by others”

Phase 3: Recovery Phase. I’ve bought a pillow I can sleep on. I found mac & cheese. I’ve now learned how to say “thank you” and “I’m sorry”, so people no longer think I’ve been raised in a barn. I bought some culturally appropriate clothes. I’m starting to like the clothes, even though everything is glittery, which is fine because although my fashion sense is regressing back towards Limited Too and I feel like my mother, I get complimented by the locals on said glittery clothing (and shoes).

Phase 4: Adjustment Phase. The lady in the local market knows me and my dinner order. I’ve bought some books. I’m confidently using the 3 words in my Cantonese vocabulary. I’m able to tune out the foreign languages I don’t understand, rather than hear them as frustrating melodies. I can give the new interns directions in the city. I’ve memorized the subway lines.

Great. So in stage 3 I mentioned clothing. Let’s talk about that.

Although Hong Kong is an international metropolitan city, and is generally considered the liberal second cousin to mainland China, the fashion sensibilities are significantly more conservative than in the states, to an extent most people in America would find ridiculous, considering the weather here.

What I mean by this is that it is generally not considered appropriate to wear shorts or shoulder bearing tops unless one is going out to bars, or to the beach. Sure, you can do it if you want, and you’ll always find a few other local 20-somethings in essentially the same outfit as you, but the difference is that you already stand out as “other”, and if someone has to pick who to glare at between the two of you, it will almost always be you.

Most women in the workplace choose to wear pant suits, dresses, and sometimes even heels. I have no idea how they do this, considering the average temperature is between 85-95, with 98% humidity and a “real feel” of no less than 101. Sweating is just a reality here that you have to accept in order to survive. Most of the locals have these little portable fans that they bring around with them. I’m pretty sure my purchasing one pushed me over the line from phase 3 to phase 4.

When I first realized that virtually none of the clothes I’d brought were completely non-offensive, I laughed it off and got excited about the prospect of going shopping. A few days later I was righteously angry. Why should these people dictate what I can and can’t put on my body? I don’t “belong” to them, after all. I’m not “damaging” the reputation of their culture.

Once I stopped being an asshole and remembered that I am a guest in this country, I got excited again about buying clothes. There was actually something incredibly soothing about going into a local store and seeing that I didn’t look so bad. I’ve actually grown quite fond of the casual office wear style here: Most of what I have are short drapey tunic like dresses with these really cool pant/leggings underneath. And here’s the other thing: Even skimpy American clothes can’t compare to fabric specifically designed for the heat and humidity in Asia.

Now, the shoes. A few days after I arrived, I realized my white fake Toms (Foms? No? okay.) from Target weren’t going to cut it. You do an incredible amount of walking in Hong Kong, and shoes with actual soles are a must. So I went to the shoe store in the local mall. I’d be lying if I said that EVERYTHING was glittery, but everything that I wanted to wear looked like Dorothy’s slippers puked Technicolor. Now, a pair of silver, sparkly (fake) Toms are mine, and I love them. I guess I’m my mother’s daughter after all.