European Living – the Man Purse
Adapting to a different culture can be quite a humorous adventure. Even though western Europe is, in comparison to other parts of the world, a type of sister culture to ours in the US, there still exists between the two a chasm as deep and wide as the Atlantic Ocean itself. There are differences in demeanor, styles of government, theories of nutrition, and almost anything else of which one can imagine, including fashion.
Portuguese people think differently, act differently, eat differently, than any American I know. Sometimes that is wonderful and sometimes it is terrifying.
However, throw in the other types of cultures with ties to Portugal, and it becomes infinitely more interesting. Today, Portugal is infused with people from former Portuguese colonies from around the world. In our churches here we have those who hail from Asia (Macao), Africa (Mozambique and Angola), and South America (Brazil) but all have in common their native tongue.
Knowing the various cultures present and having a strong desire to adapt to our surroundings, my family and I have tried our best to put off many Americanisms and assimilate as quickly and as best we can.
Yet, very recently I found myself roundly rejecting a cultural staple of the younger Portuguese generation – the man purse.
I dare not guess by percentage how many Portuguese men under 50 walk around with what amounts to a lady's accessory over their shoulder, but believe me, it happens much more often than it should. Sadly though, it didn't really give me pause until a few weeks ago.
One Thursday night we were cleaning up the church after our mid-week service when I noticed something that resembled a camera bag, only different, draped across the back of a chair. It was small and green with some kind of funny emblem on it. Only one other family was left in the church, so I innocently asked the father if it was his two year old daughter's toy or play purse. Then, horror of all horrors, he responded, “No, it's mine.”
Go ahead, yuck it up!
Nina looked at me mortified, but reeling from the embarrassed shock, all I could do was mutter a partially intelligible “sorry” as my mind jetted off into an alternate universe. Like trying to calculate Pi to its conclusion, ever since that night I've been trying to reconcile the man purse with universal masculinity, and like the last digit of Pi, it's just not happening.
Though it's not good enough for me, I did come up with a partial justification for this crime against God given ruggedness. (Really, could anyone be tough and carry a man purse?) Again, I'm not buying into it, but several factors do play into the pro man purse stance.
First, standard pocket size on jeans and slacks in Europe is much smaller and shallower than in the States. Secondly, the size of the Euro bills increase as the denominations increase. A five is smaller than a hundred. Money is not all the same size here; therefore, wallets are also proportionally larger. Thirdly, belt clip cell phone holders are almost entirely non-existent, and finally a powder brush gets ruined when stuffed in a back pocket. Maybe I made that last one up, but the others are true.
Valid reasons they may be, yet none are convincing enough to cause me to sling a bag over my shoulder and go out in public.
Written by Michael Andrzejewski for the LaGrange Daily News.
“Look at that,” I encouraged my wife as we sat quietly eating our food court lunch. I slowly, in disgust, lowered my interesting Texican Whopper, complete with a spicy sauce and some sort of fried bean hash brown creation. As she looked, Nina put down her fork, trying to keep a cold piece of corn from shooting across the heavily trafficked floor. The food wasn't the problem. The sight was. In fact, the brief glance was almost enough to ruin the meal for the both of us. Frightening. Vomitous. Not to mention blinding. The terror in question was neither the first nor the last unsolicited view of “shopping split.”
Succinctly stated, shopping split is my name for the female version of carpenter's crack – only more severe. It occurs most frequently at malls, grocery stores, cafes, and open air markets. Its victims are mostly vain, plump, and precariously unaware of their surroundings. They most likely have hair color from a bottle, and the majority of shopping split cases are reported as a result of the combination of denim and high heels than any other fashion mixture known to man.
For those of you who just landed on planet earth, according to an urban dictionary website, carpenter's crack (aka plumber's smile or coin slot) is, “a view of the top of the buttocks and gluteal cleft while a man's pants descend due to bending over (because it frequently happens to overweight carpenters, plumbers, etc.)”
This particular case was an egregious one. Because I don't always carry a tape measure with me, the conservative, naked eye estimate had to suffice and amounted to an easy five, if not six inches. More disturbing than that was the lack of evidence of any undergarments, thus blowing the door wide open for a myriad of hygiene related snags. Thankfully, this occurrence was not accompanied by the hideous tramp stamp marking.
Shopping split in Portugal is an ever growing epidemic. Nearly all the ladies here seem to wear a size 6 when they should just buy an 8. The problem accelerates with hip huggers and fabric thrifty blouse designers. European tailors are continually making the area from the crotch to the belt line smaller and smaller in both men's and women's pants, while the shirttail has all but become extinct.
So, Senhora Shopping Split continued eating, being refreshed by the cool breeze on her backside. Slightly frustrated and bizarrely curious, I asked my modest wife, “Does she not know? Can she not feel that?” Others were beginning to take notice also as heads turned and nods increased. Oblivious to the half moon she was shining to anyone walking by, yet keen to the whispers and funny looks that increased, Mrs. Moonie's ears must have been on fire.
In the end, she decided to do something about it. She treated the symptoms rather than the problem, and she did so mainly because that was all that she could do at that moment. However, I fear that she, along with so many others, will remain in denial and live with shopping split forever.
The incident ended quietly yet defiantly when she stood to her feet, grabbed the belt loop located at 6 o'clock on the waistband, and heaved (much more than ho'd). She successfully, although momentarily closed the crack while managing to lift herself ever so slightly from the earth. Crisis diverted. Case closed...until her daughter drops her toy in the parking deck.
Written by my favorite guest blogger. Tell me....do you guys ever see Shopping Split? Or maybe you're a proud wearer? One just about has to walk around the malls looking at the ceiling if you don't want to see every present females backside. Please explain this phenomenon to me.
