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So you want to look like a Dane? I don’t blame you. Danes are hot, so I’m going to tell you how to look just like them. I’ve taken The Meaning of Style for the last four months taught by a stylish Dane who I quote “feels uncomfortable” if he wears the same pair of shoes more than once in a month. Thus, I am qualified. Listen, learn, look Danish.

Step 1: Take your head and dip it in a bucket of peroxide. Go ahead, throw caution to the wind. If you accidentally dye your eyebrows, it’s a plus! You can’t look like a Dane unless your scalp burns from too much bleach. All Danes are blonde, by birth or by bottle, it doesn’t matter.

This guy’s got it!

Step 2: If you are a girl, you must only wear your newly dyed hair in one of two ways. Lazy or lazier.

Lazy- Put your hair on the top of your head in the highest bun possible. You want people to stop on the street and ask, “Is it even gravitationally possible for her bun to be that high?” The key to this bun is to never look in the mirror after doing it. If there is bumps or chunks falling out, no sweat. You want to look like you spent all your time dying your hair and none of your time doing your hair.

I Googled “danish bun” and this wasn’t quite what I was looking for, but correct and delicious nonetheless.

The perfect height, the perfect messiness and even in black and white, the perfect bottle blonde. Bun Master!

Lazier- Do absolutely nothing with your hair. Wake up and go. At the most, part it down the middle. Your hair will look the right amount of messy and the right amount of awesome. Danes have truly magic hair.

This Dane woke up three minutes ago.

What I look like in the morning. Rough. Or should I say, meow. LOLZ ;) :D :) (remember if you are dressing like a Dane, you must also use emoticons like a Dane)

Now, hair for the men. If you want to look like a Danish man, you need to ignore everything I just said about the girls. You must make your hair look as if you spend a minimum of five hours doing it. Hair product is your best friend. Your hairstyle MUST convince onlookers that you skipped school in order to properly gel. The more unnatural swoops, swirls and spikes, the better.

Nick Carter circa 1995 is a good starting point. You can’t go all out Dane the first day. You probably don’t even have that much gel in stock.

Oh yes. That height ain’t natural.

Now that you have your hair all big and rock hard to the touch, you can do one of two things: leave it the way it is or buzz the sides. The gelled hair MUST be gelled back in a very gentlemen like swoop, a very large swoop. Then you must take an electric razor and buzz short everything else on your head that is not considered part of the swoop. I searched and searched the internet and no pictures could do this ‘I can tell what country you come from even if I was only allowed to see you from the eyes up” hairstyle any justice. This Danish man is half-assing the hairstyle. Imagine more hair on top and much less hair on the sides.

And you call yourself a Dane?

Step 3: Put down the bag of chips that is currently in your hands as you are reading my blog in bed. Danes have Viking blood, for gosh sakes, and thus are naturally tall and ripped. You’ll need all the help you can get to fit into Danish skinny jeans.

But, if you ever do come to Denmark, disregard this rule and eat these chips. Imagine the best qualities of all your favorite chips combined in to one chip.

Step 4: Go to your closet, put everything that is not black into a bag and burn it. If you truly want to look like a Dane, you can never wear color again. Ever. When people look in your closet, you want them to be confused. Are you really a (insert profession here) or are you really, in fact, a ninja?

Is that a ninja? Nah, it’s just a Dane.

Step 5: This is definitely the hardest rule of all. You can never look like you are coming or going from the gym again. In layman’s terms: stop looking like a slob. There is not even a word for slob in Danish because it would never be used. No more ratty grey sweatpants. No more oversized gym clothes with stains in the armpits. And worst of all, no more UGG boots. (I didn’t just look at my outfit now and describe it or anything…) If you want to look like a Dane AND you want to go to the gym to get that hot Danish bod, your gym clothes better look nicer than a non-Dane’s every day clothes. Top of the line matching Nike or Hummel only, please.

Just a Dane (who did not follow step number one ) rocking out in head to toe Hummel.

Step 6: Now that you know the color scheme and the no sweat pants rule, what do you actually wear? Girls first. The goal is to make your legs look as long and skinny as possible. On the top wear a bulky sweater or a structured jacket and on the bottom wear tight black skinny jeans. Your legs will look like little matchsticks.

Boys next. Your goal is to look like Waldo from Where’s Waldo but instead of red, everything needs to be black. You need tight pants (your girlfriend’s skinny jeans will work), a striped shirt, hipster thick rimmed-glasses (whether you need a prescription or not) and a beanie for when you run of out gel.

I have to admit that I heard this Waldo thing from someone else, but it was such a perfect description that I couldn’t pass it up. Waldo is just missing a little five-o’clock shadow on his face and his trusty bike.

Step 7: SCARF. For boys and girls both, do not dare leave your house without a large and in charge scarf. Start wearing your scarf mid-August. Stop wearing your scarf mid-June. Go to scarf withdrawal therapy in July.

A little on the small side and not black, but overall pretty Danish.

Step 8: Shoe time. As a Dane, you have three options of footwear. Three and only three.

Black Converse or Black Nike Frees or Black Wedge Booties (If you are male and want to wear the wedges, Denmark is about as liberal as it gets…so go for it)

Step 9: I’m bending the rules a bit. You are allowed to wear one colored item and that item must be your backpack. Your Fjällräven backpack, to be exact. Go into a store and ask if they have Fjällräven. You’ll pronounce some word that is nowhere near correct and three Danes behind the counter will laugh for five minutes while they keep asking you to repeat the word just so they can hear it pronounced incorrectly over and over again. Not that it has ever happened to me, but just to be safe, maybe you should just order it online?

The more obnoxious the color the better because this is the only color you may see all day in Copenhagen.

Step 10: This is it guys, the last step to looking like a true Dane. Wipe that smile off your face and put on an ice cold stare. If you are a Dane, you need to look unapproachable and intimidating. Avoid eye contact at all times, whether in the train or on the street. And NEVER say hi or nod at anybody that walks by, as we do in Minnesota.

The look

Step 10 b: Once you have mastered the “Ice Queen” look, prepare to completely wipe it off your face once someone starts talking to you. Danes may not look approachable, but if you get the nerve to ask for directions or to just start a conversation, they are the freaking best. Danes are the nicest, funniest and happiest people I have ever met. (For real. Denmark is ranked the Happiest country in the world right now. The US is 26th.) So wear that death stare, but you better be all love underneath you if want to truly look (and act) like a Dane.

Hej Hej,

Hannah

Vi elsker, vi elsker, vi elsker Parken! Vi elsker, vi elsker, vi elsker FCK!

I never thought I’d see the day when I would be chanting at a soccer, excuse me, fodbold game. Soccer was basically treated as a second class citizen at my high school while football (American football) always reigned supreme. I never really understood the point of having hands and not being able to use them. What’s the point of hands then? Despite my confusion and dislike, I did play on an IM soccer team at Northwestern last year(Gamma Phi/SAE REPRESENT!). My love for the game wasn’t really there, but the fact that I could hold onto jerseys and “accidentally” kick boys in the shins and get away with it because I’m a girl, kept drawing me back to the turf every Sunday night. (I play in almost every intramural sport at NU and I didn’t get the nicknames Beast, Ironwoman and Psycho from the opposing teams for nothing. I really wish I was joking. You could say I do absolutely everything necessary in order to win, which may or may not scare the small Asian girls that come straight from the library in order to have a fun game of dodgeball.) So maybe if my soccer team would have taken first and not third because of a stupid side kick that should have never happened, maybe I would be a soccer fan. But I still am not.

Until last night….

FC København vs AGF Århus. FCK was the home team, so the match was held at Parken. Thus the song lyrics, vi elsker Parken. I think this is hilarious because I couldn’t imagine ever singing a song “We love the Metrodome, We love the Metrodome.” Because let’s be real. Does anybody really love the Metrodome? I would maybe sing, “I love Dome Dogs,” but never the Metrodome. I don’t love things that collapse after a light dusting of snow.

The first great thing I loved about the game:

The fans are allowed to light things on fire and throw smoke bombs. Let me repeat myself: the fans are allowed (more like encouraged) to light things on fire and throw smoke bombs. The main FCK cheering section called the Urban Crew did not stop singing or jumping up and down in perfect synchronization for the entire 90 minute match. Check out the video I filmed:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cCogfPBGrpY&feature=youtube_gdata_player

The entire game I was angry that I wasn’t in that section. If I ever go to another FCK match, mark my words: I will be in the Urban Crew and I will set something on fire.

Another thing I loved about the fodbold match was that Danes are so funny when they yell. It’s a lot of this, “Neeeeeeeeeeeej, NEJ NEJ NEJ,” and then followed by a string of English swear words. Nej rhymes with “lie” by the way and it means no. For my whole first week in Denmark, I pronounced it with the “J” and sounded like a complete idiot.

Another great thing about the match was that the players on the opposing team, Århus, all dyed their hair this disgusting burnt red color, which made them look about 13 years old. It was so much fun to yell, “Ginge down” whenever anyone on their team fell, which was quite often and yes, I yelled it every time.

The last amazing thing about the soccer game was the hotdogs. Denmark has got some great hotdogs. Instead of slicing the bun open, the bun has a hole at the top for the extra long hotdog to peek out of. And the ketchup tastes like freshly mashed tomatoes. Every street corner sells these hotdogs (the Danes didn’t bother changing the name to anything Danish) and I have definitely made my rounds to the various venders.

My hotdog and me enjoying our good view of the game.

A Dane looking really sad because her five beers are out of her reach at the moment.

Jeg elsker fodbold. There, I said it. I love soccer. At least, I really loved the soccer match I watched and the funny thing is that the score was 0 to 0. I can only imagine how much more I would have enjoyed it if even one goal had been scored. Northwestern needs to watch out when I get back…now that I like the sport I’m playing, things could get a little, well, Psycho.

Hej Hej,

Hannah

On Thursday, I introduced the beloved holiday of Thanksgiving to my Danish family. The entire time I’ve been in Denmark, I have participated in countless Danish traditions and it was so much fun to be able to share one of mine for a change. Go America!

So, I’ll be honest and say that I was completely terrified to take on this task. I realized that as soon as I said, “We should totally have a Thanksgiving dinner and I’ll cook it all,” that I should have kept my mouth shut. If you know anything about my family or happen to read the Becker Citizen, where I’ve published all the Miller Family secrets, then you’ll understand that in our household we have never used the words “gourmet” and “cooking” in the same sentence. Actually, we may have never even used “good” and “cooking” in the same sentence. I’m just going to say it: my mom is handicapped in the kitchen. She even made it to the second round of auditions for “America’s Worst Cook” when she applied this summer. (Personally, I think my writing skills gave her a boost since I wrote her entire application pretending I was her.) Anyway, since my mom can’t cook, I never learned. And thus, I am also kitchen handicapped. My Danish family makes (asks) me to cook once a week and these are just a few of the questions I have asked them while in the kitchen: How do you cut an onion? How do you boil rice? How do you know when spaghetti is done? (Ummmm, taste it?) So can you see my anxiety about this Thanksgiving dinner that I threw out on the table?

What happened you ask? Did I drop the turkey? Did I poison everyone? Surprisingly, no! Thanksgiving (Hannah style) was a big giant success of a meal. I might even go as far as to say it was one of the best Thanksgiving dinners I have ever eaten.

My host mom, Lise, and I went shopping at three different grocery stores to buy what we needed, and we still didn’t find it all. The Danes do not eat Thanksgiving type food and thus do not carry the things we take for granted when cooking Thanksgiving dinner. Instead of cream of mushroom soup, we used a pouch of actual mushroom soup. Instead of cream creamed corn for the scalloped corn, we made the creamed corn completely from scratch. Instead of stuffing in a bag, we toasted our own bread in the oven. Sorry if anyone in my extended family is reading this, but sometimes your stuffing can be dry and the one I made was perfectly not dry. I think I’m officially going to be the new “Stuffing Girl” at all future Thanksgivings! The big thing that the Danish grocery stores do not carry is pumpkin pie filling. Oh no! I watched my host mom ask many grocery store employees if they carried it and I couldn’t understand their Danish, but by their obviously confused facial expressions, pumpkin pie in a can is a mystery. So Lise bought a pumpkin, cut it open and went to town.

Brian and Lise making the turkey perfect

This was the final menu for the night:

Scalloped Corn with Bacon: A huge hit with my three Danish grandparents and great-aunt who came to the celebration.

Candied Sweet Potatoes: This was the dish that everyone was the most confused about when I was cooking it, but in the end, they loved it! Marshmallows taste good on anything. Duh.

This little guy got so many weird stares

Green Bean Casserole: My personal favorite and the dish my mom usually brings to our Thanksgiving dinners. Dumping a can of cream of mushroom soup over a can of green beans is something that even she can’t fail at.

Hannah’s Spændende Stuffing: For those who don’t happen to be one of the lucky 5.5 million people who speak Danish in the world, spændende means exciting.

Turkey: Since Danish ovens are pretty small, we had to cook the turkey on the grill for half the time which is something that I’ve never heard of before. It turns out that half-oven baked and half-grilled turkey is the best turkey. Seriously.

Look at this masterpiece!

Creamy Mashed Potatoes: These special potatoes had cream cheese and sour cream in them. My host sister, Sine, ate at least two pounds of this stuff by herself. Go Sine!

Homemade Pumpkin Pie: My host mom would like to add that if she had made the crust from scratch, it would have been much better. I agree, but it was pretty dang good anyway.

Sparkling Cranberry Cocktail: Instead of cranberry sauce, which I’ve never really liked that much, we made a welcome drink with cranberry juice and Fax Kondi (the Danish version of Sprite). Yummy!

I made my sisters come search outside for leaves and twigs for the centerpiece.

While the food was amazing, it wasn’t my favorite part of Thanksgiving in Denmark. Before dinner, I introduced my Danish family to a tradition that my family at home always does. We went around the table and said what we were most thankful for. This ended up being a lot more emotional than my normal Thanksgiving. I think it hit us all for the first time that I was leaving Denmark very soon. Now, the rule is that nobody is allowed to mention my leaving and if they do, I either tell them to stop talking or I put my hands over my ears.

All in all, Thanksgiving in Denmark wasn’t quite the same as Thanksgiving in the States. Tony wasn’t throwing routes to me in the fresh snow. Jake wasn’t continually poking me under the dinner table causing me to throw a necessary scene in the middle of dinner. My Dad wasn’t there to save me the turkey gizzard (and my brothers weren’t there to steal it from me when I wasn’t looking). And my Mom, well she wasn’t there to wake-up at midnight with me for Caribou Coffee and Black Friday shopping. But my Danish family was there instead and even though Thanksgiving was a little different than usual, it was equally as fun, delicious and full of love.

Family photo hour!

I love my crazy sisters

Hej Hej,

Hannah