As the saying goes, ”When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” As I am not in Rome, it would make little to no sense emulating them. However, I have made a clandestine, yet concerted, effort to appear more,”Danish.”
If the Danes know one thing, it’s fashion. Sure, Parisians or the Milanese are better known for their impeccable taste. But the difference is that the Danes are literally born with an innate ability to look well put together. I ride the bus to and from the city center multiple times each day, and constantly spot nine-year-olds (not an exaggeration) that make me feel un-cool. They sport skinny jeans in all the shades of ROY G BIV, metallic Chuck Taylor’s, fitted hoodies and checkered Afghan scarves, tied in the style of a western bandit.
While many of my classmates here still insist on traipsing about the city in sweatpants, running shoes and oversized sweatshirts, I have chosen to avoid such attire, and instead opt for clothing that doesn’t scream ”Greetings! I am American! Please make fun of me in a hushed Danish tone!”
This may come off as slightly shallow/judgmental/superficial. And that’s because it is, if I’m being blunt (another common Danish trait.) But by dressing like a Dane I am able to perpetuate the illusion that I am Danish. That is, of course, until I am forced to speak and the person addressing me realizes that all I can say in Danish is, ”Hello, I am from the USA, I cannot speak Danish, two cups of cappucino, where is the discotek? Salmon.”
I recently invested in a light weight coat from a department store called Illum. It’s a pretty standard black trench that cinches at the waist and has a number of unnecessary decorative buttons and ties. But I must say, when I hit the streets in my new purchase, paired with a patterned scarf, cigarette jeans and neon Nikes, I feel infinitely more hip. Meanwhile, my pea coat hangs sadly in the closet and weeps, knowing she just doesn’t make the cut here.
At first I looked on at the Danes in envy. But even after my carefully crafted efforts, I am resigned to the fact that I will never look as chic as a Danish fourth grader. Sad, but true.
