Earlier this month I visited the visitor-hating city of Barcelona. I wasn’t too worried. Sure, I had my valuables in a bumbag and was sporting scarlet sunburn around my neck, but did I obviously stand out from the locals? At which point I noticed a Spanish man striding down the street with his top off.
He didn’t look like I do with my top off. In fact, it didn’t seem like he had his top off at all; his heavy musculature and deep, mahogany tan were a kind of clothing. Or rather, the way he carried them gave no indication he was partially nude, with none of the shrinking from view that I associated with such a display.
