Have you ever noticed how some people come back from a trip sounding like they’ve been transplanted from another universe? One minute they’re your average Joe, and the next, they’re sprinkling their sentences with parakalo or signing off emails with Namaste. It’s equal parts fascinating and cringe-worthy, and it raises a deeper question: Why do we feel compelled to adopt accents, mannerisms, or customs from places we’ve barely spent a week in? Personally, I think this phenomenon is less about cultural appreciation and more about identity—a way to signal to the world (and maybe ourselves) that we’re not who we used to be.
The Identity Makeover: Why We Borrow From Abroad
Let’s start with the obvious: travel changes us. But what’s intriguing is how some people externalize that change. Take my friend who, after a month in Italy, started gesturing like a Neapolitan chef every time he was confused. Or the American woman who returned from Bhutan and suddenly couldn’t stop saying Namaste. What makes this particularly fascinating is that it’s not just about adopting something new—it’s about shedding the old. In my opinion, this is less about cultural immersion and more about a subconscious desire to reinvent oneself.
What many people don’t realize is that this behavior often stems from what anthropologists call mimetic desire. Coined by René Girard, the term suggests that when we travel, we don’t just want to see a culture—we want to become it. We romanticize the authenticity of other places and believe that by mimicking their accents or customs, we can borrow some of that authenticity for ourselves. But here’s the kicker: it’s rarely about genuine connection. More often, it’s about signaling to others (and ourselves) that we’re well-traveled, sophisticated, or somehow better.
Prestige Bias: The Unspoken Currency of Travel
One thing that immediately stands out is how certain destinations seem to inspire more mimicry than others. Why do Americans adopt British accents in London but not, say, Polish accents in Warsaw? The answer lies in prestige bias. We’re more likely to imitate cultures we perceive as prestigious—think France, Italy, or Japan. From my perspective, this isn’t just about admiration; it’s about social capital. By mimicking these cultures, we’re trying to elevate our own status, even if it’s just in our own minds.
But here’s where it gets interesting: with the rise of social media, the game has changed. Overtourism has made traditional prestige destinations feel less exclusive, so travelers are now seeking out covert prestige. Think rural Guatemala, Laos, or India. By romanticizing these less-developed places, travelers can position themselves as culturally enlightened, distinct from the masses. It’s a form of one-upmanship, a way to say, I’m not just a tourist—I’m a cultural connoisseur.
The Psychology of Transformation: For Us or For Them?
A detail that I find especially interesting is how much of this behavior is performative. When I returned from Prague with a new accent and androgynous style, I wasn’t just trying to impress others—I was trying to convince myself that I had changed. Looking back, it feels like a cry for validation, a way to prove that my travels had left a mark. What this really suggests is that these transformations are often more about internal struggle than external appreciation.
Dr. Charlotte Russell, a travel psychologist, notes that some people adopt foreign customs as a way to hold onto their experiences. But I’d argue that it’s also a way to prove those experiences. In a world where everyone’s posting sunset selfies from Machu Picchu, adopting a local custom feels like a more authentic way to say, I was there. The problem? It often comes across as inauthentic, a caricature of the culture we’re trying to honor.
The Dark Side of Cultural Adoption
Here’s where things get tricky: the line between appreciation and appropriation is razor-thin. When does adopting a custom become disrespectful? When does mimicry turn into mockery? I’ve seen travelers don saris in India or speak broken Spanish in Guatemala, and while their intentions might be good, the effect can be cringe-worthy at best, offensive at worst. What many people don’t realize is that cultural adoption isn’t neutral—it’s loaded with power dynamics.
If you take a step back and think about it, this behavior often reflects a colonial mindset, where Western travelers feel entitled to take from other cultures without fully understanding them. It’s the same logic that drives overtourism: we consume places and people without considering the impact. Personally, I think we need to ask ourselves: Are we adopting these customs out of respect, or are we just using them as props in our own identity makeover?
The Future of Travel and Identity
As travel becomes more accessible, this phenomenon is only going to intensify. Social media will continue to fuel the quest for covert prestige, and travelers will keep searching for ways to stand out. But here’s a provocative thought: What if, instead of adopting surface-level traits, we focused on deeper cultural understanding? What if we used travel to challenge our own biases rather than reinforce them?
In my opinion, the key is to approach travel with humility. Instead of trying to become the Other, we should strive to understand the Other. That means listening more than mimicking, observing more than performing. After all, the most transformative journeys aren’t the ones that change how we look or sound—they’re the ones that change how we think.
So, the next time you catch yourself saying pura vida or flashing the shaka sign, ask yourself: Is this who I am, or who I want to be? Because at the end of the day, travel should expand our horizons, not shrink our identities into a collection of borrowed mannerisms. And if you’re still tempted to adopt that French accent after a week in Paris? Well, as they say in Greece, parakalo—go ahead. Just don’t be surprised if the world sees right through it.
