Standing at the taxi zone with Angel, I drop my eyes to my feet. Scuffed brown leather. Look up again. My friend is shaking his head. "No, no, no, eso no sirve bien, Daniel - this will not do. A gentleman always keeps his shoes well revolved."
"Revolved?" (Revuelto.)
He gestures up the street toward a bench. A man sits with left foot raised on a shoeshine box. A young man leans over the leg, whipping his shine cloth back and forth, "revolving" it over the shoe. Thus a shine is también (also) "revuelto" as well as "brillado." Both words apply.
Angel punches me lightly in the arm to recapture my attention. "And not only the shoe-shine, Daniel, but everything. Nice haircut, combed and neat. Clean shave. Mustache trimmed. Good dress shirt, ironed; maybe a tie, maybe not, that's not so important except at more formal events. Pants - clean, good material, pressed, with a straight crease - that's very important, un rayo derecho..." he pauses, smiling, "but then, if you're wearing jeans, which are acceptable now in many places, they don't need the crease, but they must be clean and not wrinkled. Your socks, oh yes, they must be calzones de vestir, dress socks, not those white socks for sport, unless you're wearing boots, in which case no one can see your socks." He stops again, reflecting, "Here in México, Daniel, a good pair of boots can be completely de la moda - how you say it, in style - but the boots must be neat, well shined, and made from tooled leather or alligator, or maybe snakeskin." He frowns, scratches his head, "What have I forgotten? Oh yes, of course - the jacket. Either a good leather jacket, or a dress coat, or a full dress suit. You know, many times a sweater is also good, especially if you are wearing jeans. Maybe, once in a while, for some very special wedding or función, you'll need a tuxedo."
I shake my head, bewildered at this detailed plan of how to dress like a gentleman in Mexico.
"Daniel, good manners aren't everything. You must look the part, too; not just act it." Angel lays his hand on my shoulder, "Last Friday, when I drove you to that art gallery for their inauguración, you were passably dressed, more or less. Nice coat; no tie, but a clean shirt. No crease in your pants, but clean and not wrinkled. But your shoes - these ones, eh?" His hand drops from my shoulder, points down. I nod, ashamed.
"And didn't you notice people looking you up and down?"
"Yes. Especially the women."
"Ah yes, especially the women. They see these things, you know," he touches the corner of his eye, "the women see, and they know." "Yes," I say, remembering a strange event that kept occurring that night, "we would start a conversation in Spanish, and they would look down at my shoes, and start speaking English to me!"
-- From 1999 --