ALMOST CARRIE ~ Sex and the Stereotype

Carrie & the passionate, brooding Russian. He also puts cherries in his tea and is good at ballet.

When you’re a tour guide and you work in a city like New York, you meet people from all over the world.  Each day, as I speak with individuals from far-flung nations about the unique aspects of their lives—their travels, their careers, their families, their homelands—I can’t help but notice:  All those clichéd and slightly offensive cultural stereotypes are, more often than not, true.

Take the Germans. I mention the Germans first because they are, quite literally, first.  They are the first to arrive for every tour, the first to board the bus, the first in line for Cosmos.  Other nationalities are forever running to catch up, arms flailing, coffee dripping, bags askew, but never once in seven years have I had to wait for a German.  They also look, the men and the women, like Kurt Von Trapp (which is not a bad thing since Kurt has lovely skin and a great head of hair). And yes, they often appear perturbed, even if they are having a good time.  I know this because they frown at me and say, “I am having a good time.”  Plus, they are wonderful tippers; their tens and twenties are as crisp as their starched shirts.

The Australians are quite the opposite.  A sloppy people on the whole: sloppy vowels and big, sloppy, Labrador retriever grins.  They are forever ambling about the globe, living out of their backpacks, using up their scads of vacation time and buying American junk for half the price it is back home.  The Aussies are friendly and fun, and the men are, quite frankly, the sexiest in the world.  They are rugged and relaxed and what makes them even hotter is that they’re often with women who aren’t nearly as attractive as they are.  It’s jarring; in this country we see beautiful women with not-so-beautiful men all the time, but usually not the other way around.  Both Aussie sexes are equally outgoing and warm, and, in direct contrast to the Germans but true to form, they leave horrible little crumpled up tips and handfuls of loose, dirty change.

The Scandinavians are gorgeous, blonde, and so hip they make the most savvy New Yorkers feel like hayseeds.  They hang out at bars in Bushwick that don’t even have names yet and which can only accessed by underground retro disco sewer tunnel.  Their haircuts alone are works of art, sculpted and asymmetrical in a way that no human being should be able to pull off.  Also, they are so liberal and open that my Sex and the City tour becomes an outing for the whole family.  Mom, Dad, 13-year-old Tilde, and 8-year-old Sven all chitchatting about funky spunk and fuck buddies.  Truth be told, little Sven is so beyond me that it doesn’t even feel that weird.

And more!  So many more stereotypes to behold.  The women of London, God bless them, are like every Jane Green character come to life: mildly unhappy in that oh-so-amusing and self-deprecating way, plus they all think New York is brilliant. The Brazilians really do have those fake boobs you’re always reading about, and yes, the Japanese are wearing gym socks with high heels and making peace signs in every picture.  If I take a photo of a Japanese woman and she doesn’t flash a V, I get nervous and wonder if she’s feeling ill.

That’s the thing about stereotypes; just when you think you’ve got them all figured out, someone fails to live up.  Just the other day, a woman threw a hissy fit because she didn’t like her seat.  She stomped her foot and flicked her hair and told me that my boss would be hearing about how unhappy I had made her.  The shocking thing wasn’t that a grown woman was throwing a tantrum, it was that the woman was from Sydney.  In the sweltering heat, with 55 people staring at me and a crazy customer making a scene, all I could think was, “You shouldn’t be acting this way, you’re Australian for god’s sake!”

Emily Sproch is a writer and a Sex and the City tour guide.  Each Friday, she chronicles the fine line between reality and fiction in her column “Almost Carrie.”