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| Version 1 | Version 2 |
|---|---|
| Letter from Vietnam: hot fashion | Letter from Vietnam: hot fashion |
| (30 days later) | |
| It's 35C outside but in the basement car park of my apartment block I see a Vietnamese woman wearing jeans, ball-gown-style gloves and socks with high-heel shoes. A curious ensemble set against my sandals, shorts and T-shirt. "Are you cold?" I say with a cheeky grin as she clambers on to her Honda scooter. She points skyward and, even though she's also sporting a face mask and sunglasses, I can tell she's wincing at the very thought of the sun. | It's 35C outside but in the basement car park of my apartment block I see a Vietnamese woman wearing jeans, ball-gown-style gloves and socks with high-heel shoes. A curious ensemble set against my sandals, shorts and T-shirt. "Are you cold?" I say with a cheeky grin as she clambers on to her Honda scooter. She points skyward and, even though she's also sporting a face mask and sunglasses, I can tell she's wincing at the very thought of the sun. |
| I often drive through blistering midday heat from my home to Ho Chi Minh City's main downtown kernel of District 1, nowadays a mishmash of illustrious French colonial period buildings and glitzy 21st‑century office blocks with plenty of more rudimentary "lego-deco" architecture in between. Along the way, I pass women wearing wide-brimmed hats under their crash helmets and baggy blouses with extra-long sleeves. One of the more eye-catching products designed for any sun-fearing fashionista on two wheels appears to be a trench coat version of the burkini. And when traffic lights turn red, almost every motorcycle and scooter swerves for the side of the road in search of whatever shade can be found. | I often drive through blistering midday heat from my home to Ho Chi Minh City's main downtown kernel of District 1, nowadays a mishmash of illustrious French colonial period buildings and glitzy 21st‑century office blocks with plenty of more rudimentary "lego-deco" architecture in between. Along the way, I pass women wearing wide-brimmed hats under their crash helmets and baggy blouses with extra-long sleeves. One of the more eye-catching products designed for any sun-fearing fashionista on two wheels appears to be a trench coat version of the burkini. And when traffic lights turn red, almost every motorcycle and scooter swerves for the side of the road in search of whatever shade can be found. |
| I am pure-bred Irish (read: genetically engineered to live in a damp cottage by a peat bog) and yet I'm the only one soaking up the rays while waiting for the light to turn green. It's only when your sunglasses slide off your sweaty nose that you begin to question your judgment. Then comes the day when you wear a black T-shirt and can't decide where to go for lunch. You drive around absorbing heat until you're convinced you can smell singed hair. You're either smouldering or delusional. That night you notice what looks like an inchoate mole forming on your right cheek. You search "malignant melanoma" on Google. Now, every day before you start your motorbike, you wince at the very thought of the sun. | I am pure-bred Irish (read: genetically engineered to live in a damp cottage by a peat bog) and yet I'm the only one soaking up the rays while waiting for the light to turn green. It's only when your sunglasses slide off your sweaty nose that you begin to question your judgment. Then comes the day when you wear a black T-shirt and can't decide where to go for lunch. You drive around absorbing heat until you're convinced you can smell singed hair. You're either smouldering or delusional. That night you notice what looks like an inchoate mole forming on your right cheek. You search "malignant melanoma" on Google. Now, every day before you start your motorbike, you wince at the very thought of the sun. |
| There is no respite. Each day seems hotter than the last. The day after you discover that dry season will last for six months you swallow your pride. You put on linen trousers, cover your face with a scarf and slide a baggy white shirt with long sleeves over your T-shirt – the line will be drawn at socks with sandals. On the way to town, you ride under the unforgiving midday sun, and, yes, you are hot but at least you're not burning, and when you see a red light up ahead, you swerve to the side of the road in search of whatever shade can be found. | There is no respite. Each day seems hotter than the last. The day after you discover that dry season will last for six months you swallow your pride. You put on linen trousers, cover your face with a scarf and slide a baggy white shirt with long sleeves over your T-shirt – the line will be drawn at socks with sandals. On the way to town, you ride under the unforgiving midday sun, and, yes, you are hot but at least you're not burning, and when you see a red light up ahead, you swerve to the side of the road in search of whatever shade can be found. |
| • Every week Guardian Weekly publishes a letter from one of its readers from around the world. We welcome submissions, which should focus on giving our readers a clear sense of a place and its people. Pease send them to weekly.letter.from@guardian.co.uk | • Every week Guardian Weekly publishes a letter from one of its readers from around the world. We welcome submissions, which should focus on giving our readers a clear sense of a place and its people. Pease send them to weekly.letter.from@guardian.co.uk |
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