Sometimes it seems that Almaty is not yet ready to spit on standards and accept non-standard self-expressions as due. Here I’m going in the lush organza skirt (custom-made on my sketches) on one of the sleeping areas somewhere on the outskirts of the city, and the drivers are honking me, shouting and waving. The girls, dressed in black from head to toe, twisting their temple. But what is wrong? I'm not naked, not bald; I do not stand shod in skiing on asphalt. By the way, if I walked into the center, it would have been within the normal range. We are so contrasting, though we are the habitants of the same city.