Sweaty Betty

I was lucky enough to visit the wonderful city of New Orleans last week, which subsequently corresponded with the beginning of the brutal summer heat down South. Born and raised in Colorado, I thought I knew what heat was when the thermometer hit 100 degrees during the summer. I was wrong. I knew what hot was, but hot and humid? That was something I was blissfully unaware of until my walking tour of the scenic French Quarter.

 Halfway through the tour, my denim shirt (clothing mistake number one) was sporting a dark line of underboob sweat, while my skinny jeans (clothing mistake number two) were chafing against my inner thigh. Fanning my shirt out, trying to slightly dry the sweat stains, I turned to my neighbor in the group, apologetically noting how sweaty I was.

 She turned to me, unimpressed.

 “Girl, you and the rest of the South.”

 I looked around the group, spotting multiple people with dark patches on their lower backs, underarms, and even, rather unfortunately, in the inner thigh area. But no one was doing the awkward clothing wave or handkerchief forehead pat I have come to expect to avoid a sweaty look. Sweat seemed to be an accepted conscience of being outdoors in the South, just like a tan or rosy cheeks.

 With this epiphany, I spent the rest of my time in New Orleans exceedingly not caring about the small wet patches that may have accumulated during my exploration of the city, because it seemed like many others weren’t caring either. And let me tell you, embracing the sweat … was liberating.

 I’ve always been a fan of sweating it out. I’d much prefer hot yoga and saunas to colder endeavors. So when I got a pass to walk to a restaurant instead of taking a cab to avoid showing up a little sticky, I grabbed it and never let go. It seemed like people didn’t mind sitting next to a slightly damp girl at an outdoor table, because they two were slightly damp themselves. We were all showing our imperfect humanity with our shining visages, trudging through the grueling humidity together.

 Nearing the end of the trip, I became wistful that I would be leaving this wonderland of accepted perspiration. Would I have to go back to huddling in the air-conditioning and wearing undershirts when I left? Would I again feel the need to apologize for being human, and therefore a little sweaty? I hope not; I hope Coloradans come to realize that it’s ok to brandish a little sweat outside of the yoga studio and hikes and be thankful of our blissfully mild summers from here on out.