It’s GWAS (Great Western Alpaca Show) weekend here in Denver. I’ve just arrived home after an exhausting weekend. My feet ache and my legs feel like they’re locked in a standing position for eternity after just three days. All my clothes are saturated with the odiferous scent of paddock-condition alpacas.
In my last class as I realized the end was near (yay!), I was standing on deck and gazing around absentmindedly when it struck me. Where once there used to be a sea of white-shirts and black pants uniformly worn by each handler, I now saw a myriad of colors and garment types. Jeans, alpaca gear, leather, and eclectic vests and jackets surrounded me. It’s the death of the waitron look and I can only rejoice.
When I first became an alpaca breeder and embarked on becoming part of the show circuit, it seemed that breeders had a bit more trepidation about deviating from the recommended (not mandatory) dress code. Perhaps we were all afraid that the slightest distraction might disrupt the judge’s gaze as it fixed upon our alpacas and incur a penalty in our placement. Now, however, it seems that what the older established breeders have long realized has now taken root among even the most anxious of competitors – the knowledge that the judges have little mental bandwidth to consciously note the handlers, not to speak of what they are wearing. So unless it is flapping, waving, clicking, or rustling, the chances you will disturb the judges with your clothes are pretty remote.
This show I now consciously recognized that some people even are perhaps a bit superstitious about their choices. There are some breeders who always wear the same vest, hat, or jacket. Maybe it makes them feel lucky , or just more confident. Maybe it’s a look that they feel is branding. It works because whenever I envision them, I think of them in that outfit.
I’d like to think that this trend is because we as an industry have become more confident in our animals. An implied message of “the quality of my animal shall speak for me, so think what you want of me”. That, of course, would be reading too much into it. Perhaps it’s simply the triumph of common sense over caution or maybe comfort over homogeneity. Regardless of the reason, I’m looking through my closet right now.
There’s not a single white blouse in it.
The Pacablogger 