Buenos Aires, Argentina was the first place where I cried and screamed... way back in '65 when a doctor spanked my nekkid bottom. I was born part: Spanish, Italian, German, British and that's all I know, so for all intents and purposes I was raised with a European influence.
Growing up in Buenos Aires was brutal in the sense that there was a lot of pressure to do/say/wear the right things to be accepted. Without going into much detail, I was always aware of my imperfections and my sense of style (or lack thereof) . The only and last time I voiced my fashion taste while living there, was when I wanted my mom to buy me patent leather shoes, to which not only did she say no, but someone somewhere laughed at my tacky sense of style. From then on, and more and more, I had a "closet" personality -- most of my sense of style was unheard of. It got to where I didn't know what I liked and disliked. I only knew which colors went together and that being elegant was the best thing in the world.
Fast forward over 20 years. I am now live in the States and have figured out that being cool is way better than elegant. I can say that because I once read that being cool "is really just being yourself". I immediately agreed with that statement wholeheartedly.
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