Over Christmas break, I made a trip out to Oregon to see family, and rather than dropping extra money on a plane ticket, I went by train. The train starts in Chicago, so I spent a couple of days there on my way back just to explore. Naturally, I wanted a compact and convenient way of carrying my things for the almost three-week-long trip, so I picked the simplest (and only, to be honest), method of carrying my stuff: my laundry bag.

There was no point in pulling a big suitcase around when I was going to be walking all over the city, and I couldn’t take just my backpack since I wouldn’t have enough space for presents and souvenirs. My laundry bag is canvas with thick straps and a small pocket on the front, so I figured it would be perfect.

But there’s one thing I didn’t realize, I wasn’t going to look like a typical person going on vacation. A short-haired chick in Air Force boots with a huge black backpack on looks a lot different than some girl in heels pulling a shiny new suitcase, but should that matter? Before I set out on my journey, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.

However, the difference between my look and that of an average vacationer’s appeared to be a little more obvious to quite a few people who I encountered, especially on my return trip. At first I noticed that there were a lot more people than I am used to who avoided making eye contact with me in Chicago. I assumed this was only because of a different cultural vibe in the city.

But what seemed even stranger was that once I had stored my pack at the hostel, people started to seem more amiable. When I went into a store with the pack on, one of the employees or guards almost always made sure to keep me in sight. But when I went in without it on, I didn’t notice anybody bat an eye. My pack began to feel like a cloaking device, when I had it off I was a tourist, when I put it on I was perceived as just another city bum. The pack completed the “look.”

In retrospect, I think I should have been more prepared for that occurrence. Moving from a college campus that’s geared toward unconditional acceptance, into a situation that can be incredibly socially brutal was a bit of a shock.

Often times, people completely ignored me when I asked for directions. Homeless people talked to me about issues that they assumed I was acutely familiar with or asked me to share some of my “begging change” with them. Not that any of these things should be seen as lesser than my own situation, but I absolutely do not have the experience of someone who’s been truly homeless.

It actually hurt my confidence a bit; the thought that not having nice enough bags or clothes caused people to assume I was of “lower-class.” It’s also upsetting to consider the thought that we pass people every day who are probably homeless but manage to blend into the crowd, and no one bothers to consider the seriousness of their situation.

I’m a very communicative person, and the lack of open interaction between people in the city really bothered me. The people who were willing to talk to me despite my look ended up finding out a lot of interesting things, and I did too. Each interaction that I did have was special, new and socially valuable. Toward the end of my trip, I started to realize all of this, and I felt that I had found a solution.

It’s simple: go out of your way, push past the typical interactions you would be comfortable with. Talk to people. The worst that could happen is that they get annoyed, and if they do they’re not very nice anyway. What matters is the truth of whom a person is, their experiences. If you end up judging someone of the basis of their bag, shoes or anything else about their appearance for that matter, you’re going to miss out on many amazing interactions.