Quickie Ego Boosts at the Wheaton Mall–Free

If you ever want an ego boost (and if this sort of thing serves to boost your ego), go to the Wheaton Mall.

Whether you’re in an “I’m fat” kind of mood, or whether you’re wondering why no one seems to be paying any kind of attention to you anymore, the Wheaton Mall could potentially cure you of what ails you.

Now, before I go forth with this, I’d like to caution that I think this only works for women of Latina/Hispanic descent. I won’t say that Latino/Hispanic guys don’t whistle or mutter inappropriate grunts of approval at the sight of a white or African-American girl, but I have noticed that rarely do they do this to anyone who’s not a Latina. I don’t know if it’s as simple as them not being attracted to anyone outside of the culture, or if it’s the whole don’t-reach-above-you complex that the entire Latino/a community seems to be suffering from. There is always the not-so-wise theory that Americans will always think that they’re above you, so it’s best not to date them, flirt with them, or even look at them. However, if you are of Latina descent (I have to say, again, I hate the words Latina and Hispanic, but I can’t afford to write down every country in North, Central and South America each time), this should work for you.

And I am not kidding. Today, free of demanding workouts and woefully abandoned by my boyfriend on his birthday (kidding, honey!), I decided that a good day of shopping was in order. My goals for the day? Picture frames (alas), coasters (got ‘em, and you’re using them, IP), an emerald ring (it’s my birthstone–IP, can you take me to the mall on Saturday or Sunday next to pick it up? Needed to be resized since my finger is a petite size six), and clothes (um . . . yeah, I only picked up a shirt or two . . . yeah). I was also in the market for a vanilla bean frappuccino, but that would come at the end of a hearty shopping day. A hearty shopping day that told me not only can I still shop like a pro, but that I am one hot woman from San Isidro, Zacatecas (like I didn’t know that already–guys, tell me something I don’t know).

It began almost as soon as I got to the Metro station. It amuses me to no end, and kind of makes me feel sorry for their girlfriends, when Latino guys stare so blatantly at me. Even out of the corner of my eye, I can see them trying to twist their heads around the column I’m leaning against to get a look at my ass. I am nonchalant about this kind of gazing–it’s going to happen, I do it to guys (IP, only to you!), and at least they’re not being overly disgusting about it. They can only do it when their girlfriends are turned away, and those times are few and far between as these women tend to hang off the guys necks. It’s usually harmless. If they try for a feel, they’re going to end up hurting (note: that’s never happened to me, but if it does, you can rest assured someone’s going to get slapped–and it’s not going to be me).

The train ride up to Wheaton is quiet enough, at least today. No guys saying that I was the love of their life or anything like that (note: new emerald ring will serve as a deterrent if that ever happens again). Because of my 12-miler yesterday, I decide not to charge up the Wheaton escalators, but continue to listen to U2′s War as I stood on the right side of the escalators (remember tourists–stand to the right, walk to the left, damnit). It is during this time that I notice a few guys staring at me, kind of leering in their own not-so-charming way, on the other set of escalators currently ascending. I am this close to sticking my tongue out at them, but force myself to listen to my music instead. Concentrate on the shopping, WordNerd! Unfortunately, the examination is not over just yet. On the walk over to the mall, I have to pass by the bus stops, which are usually teeming with people, sometimes young Latino guys in groups of three or more. All eyes follow me and other Latina women as we march towards our destiny with the cash registers.

And this is what it’s like for the rest of my time in the mall (which was very busy–last day of the sales tax holiday). Eyes following me, with the occassional youthful giggle (they’re all such children, in the end) and low muttering under their breaths appreciating how “linda” or “bonita” or “chula” or “bella” I am. Frankly, having grown up in Mexico, it’s all old hat to me. Their modus operandi is so juvenile. Eyes sliding along, a nod of the head, and something that’s usually a combination of “Ay, mamacita, que (fill in adjective from above)!” An elbow to their best bud to draw attention to the current eye candy. Then disappointment when I don’t react with more than a raised eyebrow or just plain pretended deafness. The disappointment makes me laugh–I know that some women react, and positively, to this sort of wooing, but I’ve never been one to like being adressed in diminutives that both infantilize me and reduce my worth to only my looks.

Don’t forget the stare. The stare, supposed to be one of smoothness and seduction, can sometimes send me into giggles. Latino guys will stare at you, trying to catch your eye, with a serious look on their faces that says, “Yeah, baby, you know you want me,” trying to communicate how virile and strong and great providers they are in that glance. It’s a hard kind of stare, one that used to be disarming to me as a young girl in Mexico, but that now either makes me yawn or laugh. Oh, papacito, take me to your home now and make violent Latin love to me! I’m yours, that look told me all I needed to know about you! Well, not really. It’s a stare that demands submission to their machismo, but ay, Dios mio, how it causes my eyes to roll into my head. Their self-confidence is a bit inflated. Not much impresses me these days, much less a look that seeks to exploit what they perceive as a female weakness for the tough guy.

By the time I left Wheaton, I would’ve been in a great mood if I appreciated that kind of ogling, but alas, I am not that kind of a gal. Instead, I left comforted by my purchases. I left feeling girly and giddy not because of the guys, but because I did what I can do if I have the proper motivation: shop. However, if you do feel like you need a boost, and you’re a Latina, try out Wheaton on a weekend. You won’t be disappointed. There is nothing wrong with getting this kind of a boost–there are times even in my jaded life when I need to be the pretty one–but I was on a mission today, and it wasn’t a mission to get drooled over, but it happened anyway.

Now, off to Ann Taylor Loft to see what I can buy with my $25 off coupon . . .