I have reached the point where if I go out and no one catcalls me, my day doesn’t feel complete. I assume something must be wrong with the men, because of course, there can’t possibly be anything wrong with me. That’s the kind of arrogance I’ve developed in Colombia. I tell myself the poor guys I happend to walk by that day don’t know how to appreciate true beauty. Yes, I pretend to be all offended and put-off because catcalls are degrading and I’m a modern feminist-type woman and all that; I give them dirty looks and roll my eyes and sigh to myself. But I can’t lie; being told your are beautiful many times a day gives you a slightly dilusional (if temporary) sense of confidence and self-esteem. But then I remind myself that the only real requirement for getting catcalled is being a girl. And under 50.
If construction workers looked like this, maybe I wouldn’t mind the catcalls.Photo courtesy of Jason4pez.
Anway, aside from the Barbie Botero guy, there are a couple others who stand out in my mind. For example, the would-be Vallenato singer who proudly sang to me that he liked his women bonitas y gorditas. For the non-Spanish speakers out there, Carlos Vives was telling me that he liked his women pretty and fat. That guy has a special place in my heart. Also, the guy who walked by me the other day, licked his lips and said to me — with very serious bedroom eyes — “Que exceso tan rico.” I have come to terms with the fact that most catcalls I get inevitably include mention of my “Botero-like” proportions.
Then there are the poets, the ones who put their hats on their chest and recite a few lines of colonial-era poetry in your honor as you walk by. I find those to be the most endearing, as it is nice to inspire poetry, even if the same two lines are read to every other woman. Perhaps the most common catcall is “Mamita, estas muy buena.” Not particularly inspired or original, but what woman doesn’t like to be told that she is a mamitaand she is muy buena? But maybe my favorite is the simple, hola,complete with raised eyebrow and seductive smirk. Because those guys — the hola guys — are so confident that they barely need words in their game of seduction.
Categories: Bogota
Goodbye, Colombia 
A Look Back at Bogota and Cali in the 50s and 60s 
Bogota from a Taxi Cab Window 
Zona T and Los Rosales 
My (Former) Nomad Life 
I just discovered your blog a few days ago and have thoroughly enjoyed poring over your entries!
Soy colombiana y llevo 13 años viviendo en los eeuu. Me encanta leer sobre tus experiencias y perspectivas en el país.
As a size 12, 5’7 woman with double dd cups, let me tell you, I empathize with your experiences in the country. I never, ever found clothes to shop for there and the leering and comments made me want to committ man-cide several times a day.
You are a gorgeous young woman and a fabulous writer…
Silvia, the colombian gringa
Well, being good patriot, thank you for the ” lines” what you give to the Colombian Guy’s , like me, but there, in the country, more than pickup lines you will find, we was grow up between strict fathers and incorrectables mom’s, for us be warm with who we like is a pleasure, we don’t need expensive cars, or big houses, we make families, no matter if is a big family or you are taking care for son’s that is not from our creation, we still thinking in the mix between be spicy and sweet, but with a strong flavor and memorable taste. We, not all ones, but the good ones what I know, appreciate when just can make a good comment. Cheers! “Colombian Guy”
Thanks for the comment Esteban. My family is Colombian so I know a little bit about the culture! Thanks for stopping by!
“…and Incorruptible moms” * correction.