Independent Gypsy
Throughout my travels and travails in the world, I’ve always prided myself on doing things for myself. As the backpacker world’s most prominent figure, I take that responsibility more seriously with every passing day.
That’s why you’ll never see advertisements clogging up The Glorified Gypsy website or even why I always black out the branding of any clothing manufacturer. It would be easy and lucrative for me to hook up with one of the big outdoor companies, such as Kathmandu, North Face, Patagonia, or Oswald Bailey.
But I would hate for other backpackers to buy any piece of clothing or equipment based on their having seen me wearing or advertising it. [1]
TWO FACED: The strange thing is I can't even be sure this isn't me in the photo - that's how much The North Face's advertising resembles many of my activites. The photographer must have hidden in an adjacent cave with a telephoto lens.
Not that you shouldn’t want to emulate me, but I’ve noticed that years of backpacking and extended walks have altered my body [2]. For example, last weekend I FreeWalked [3] the Bondi to Coogee coastal track. Not only did I complete the walk in under the recommended timeframe, I did so wearing just a pair of flip-flops, a pair of Adidas shorts and a Bintang vest.
Imagine that for a moment: an extremely popular Sydney walk beloved and visited by thousands every day. Yet, as I looked around it began to dawn on me that I was the only one completing the walk in flip-flops [4]. Everyone else was wearing hiking shoes and/or carrying a day pack [5].
COPYRIGHT: Had I known the big outdoor companies would ask their models to brazenly copy the trademark "one hand resting on a mountain" pose which I first used in Snowdonia, then I'd have trademarked it.
Now, imagine if you’d spotted me along that walk, looked at the Reef flip-flops adorning my feet and reasoned – not unwisely – that you too could complete challenging walks in such attire. You’d probably lose your footing along the cliff tops somewhere and tumble to a painful death on the rocks below. All because of me.
No, I’m fiercely independent and always will be.
That said, it’s probably struck many as strange that the aforementioned outdoor companies haven’t approached me to offer sponsorship or even some ambassadorial role. It’s certainly no stranger than Red Bull sponsoring anyone with a death wish [6] and no less thrilling. Imagine the high-definition 4k videos North Face could make of me wearing a pair of branded aqua shoes as I jump from a tree branch almost 3 metres above the water, and dive head first into a clear Colombian river, all while having no travel insurance to cover any potentially debilitating neck injury.
It would break the Internet as readily as a submerged rock would my vertebrae.
All the big outdoor apparel companies have borrowed heavily from me, none more so than Kathmandu. The image of a brooding hiker standing atop a mountain or very steep hill is classic Carlitos de Jeffers. It would be a no-brainer, then, to send a photographer out with me the next time I do Bondi to Coogee or similar.
The only plausible explanation I can think of for why they haven't is that they already put the feelers out and learned of my non-negotiable stance on marketing [7].
That’s just as well. But when I consider the cost of my pending court appearance in March, Chandrakant’s $15,000 quote to prepare the paperwork for my permanent residence application, and the carpet cleaning bill I was given by Darryl and Quentin for the dorm room [8] at The Big Galah, most backpackers would probably encourage me to take advantage of a lucrative deal with Oswald Baily or Millets or Patagonia. And, sure, that money would come in useful. But I’d still have to say no.
The only way I could possibly contemplate being paid by Kathmandu for advertising this season’s men’s gilet is if the company also agreed to donate some money to a worthwhile charity [9]. Only then would I acquiesce (albeit reluctantly).
What I would hate, however, is for all you Glorified Gypsy fans out there to start a social media campaign urging these companies to hire me. Please, please, please don't. [10]
KATHMAN-DON'T: The window display in a local branch of Kathmandu. The company's prices are so high they nearly always have a sale on, which still makes their clothing expensive to any reasonable person. Last week, in a small protest at their prices, I walked back and forth past the entrance dressed in one of those disposable plastic ponchos while carrying a 30 litre backpack, which I'd fashioned out of dry kelp washed up on the beach. It certainly wasn't done in the expectation the store manager would notice and offer me the role of store ambassador! I completed several lunges - similar to the hiker on the right - much to the impressed passers-by (note the face of the man to the left of the photo) before a security guard from Westfield moved me along. It turned out the store manager was at a team building workshop in the city that day anyway.
[1] Just because I’m wearing/using it, doesn’t mean I approve of it. It may simply mean, for example, that another backpacker accidentally left their Petzl Tikka 22 lumen Hybrid Headlamp at an unguarded reception while they loaded their tour bus heading for the Rio Secreto caves in Playa del Carmen, Mexico, and I deemed it a waste to hand it in/chase after them.
[2] And, no doubt, my genetic makeup.
[3] FreeWalking is very similar and as equally perilous to what “Free Climbing” is in the rock climbing community. In a nutshell it means: No backpack. No water. No snacks.
[4] Sure, there were many others wearing flip-flops at various parts of the track – not least at Mackenzies Point, Waverely Cemetary, and Shark Point, Gordons Bay and Dolphins Point. But it was clear – mostly from their rotund physiques – they they’d parked a car nearby and were only venturing out on foot in order to take selfies with a pleasant backdrop.
[5] Or deck/boat shoes, espadrilles, or sport sandals.
[6] Actually, I’ve always thought Red Bull is quite savvy limiting its sponsorship to “sportspeople” whose activities depend on gravity.
[7] You’d be amazed the number of times I’ve overheard a marketing exec sigh while I’m mid-story in The Big Galah’s bar (called The Big Galah Bar). It’s the audible lament of millions of dollars disappearing into thin air while they mentally picture having to report back to their boss that Carlitos de Jeffers can’t be bought.
[8] The reason I was ejected from The Big Galah earlier this month (see Kombi-ah, my lord, 8 February).
[9] My very own charity, Backpackers in Need, springs to mind.
[10] #hiretheglorifiedgypsy, #carlitosdejefferswearsgilets, for example.