Yes I was staying at the Waldorf Astoria, the go to get away for the likes of Serena Van Der Woodson, Carrie and Big (yes I am aware that none of these people are real.) But I wasn't downing champagne cocktails on the Starlight Roof but rather scurrying through the lobby with Starbucks and sneaking to the closest diner for chocolate chip pancakes to avoid the extortionate prices.
(The Waldorf, yes I'm showing off)
As I was stomping around the town trying to keep up with the New York pace, I turned to my mother, who was clutching a map like it was her first born, and said; 'hurry up, we look like proper tourists.' She then pointed out that we were proper tourists, we had never been to New York before, in fact we had never even left Europe before. This then bought to light my unhealthy obsession, disguising the fact that I am a tourist.
I'd never realised it before but it's something I do every time I go away! I don't know why but I seem to relate being a tourist to being a very shameful thing. When I was in London a few months ago, I was sat in Sloane Square and someone asked me for directions, and I took great delight in the fact that they thought I was a local, like somehow I had succeeded in deceiving people with my elaborate, non tourist clothing.
When I go away I never dress like I usually would, and I don't mean that I adjust my clothes to the weather, I mean I actually adjust my style. Before I jetted off to New York I was sad enough to scroll through the Satorialist to gauge the city's style. One day we decided to go to the MoMA and I was pretentious enough to not only wear a Hermes scarf around my neck but I also IRONED my clothes. Who on earth actually irons their clothes anymore unless they're using their GHDs for a quick once over?
(Pretty sure I achieved the same effortless glam that this Satorialist model does)
I also decided that I was so 'street' that I would be able to cope with wearing heels all day in the baking heat. I thought this would act as the ultimate tourist disguise as people would look at my feet and obviously think; 'well she must know the streets if she's brave enough to wear those shoes round New York.' The plan inevitably failed when we decided to go on the ferry over to Liberty Island and I just look like an effing moron tripping all over the place wearing heels on a boat. And my cover was completely blown when mother purchased a Statue of Liberty foam tiara and wore it for the remainder of the day.
(Yupp that very crown, this is not my mother)
I realised just how tragic I was when I caught myself saying 'thank you' in an American accent, shortly followed by a cursory "'ey! I'm walkin' 'ere!" which I'm sure screamed out the fact I was a tourist because any self respecting New Yorker would rather get hit by a cab than utter those words. The truth was that we were the perfect tourists, we were like Buddy the elf for Christ's sake! We were walking out in front of the traffic, if there was syrup on the table we used it, we had great trouble with the fast moving escalators and by the end of the trip we still had no clue what a dime was.
("'ey! I'm walkin' 'ere!")
So yes I am no longer in denial. My name is Martha and I'm a tourist. I really don't know what my problem is. Maybe it's because I live in a tourist town, or maybe it's because I'm so self interested I actually think people will notice and care about the fact I'm touring.
There we are, I do believe that admitting I am a tourist is the first stage to getting over my fear of tourism. I did learn one thing from my secret identity though. I should really make more of an effort with my clothes when I'm not on holiday, it's amazing what a little ironing can do and how nice your hair can look when you actually do something with it!
I say that but I'm currently wearing a long sleeved grey t-shirt, ground breaking.
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