Misha* and I liked to go out in matching attire.
In the winter of 2012 I packed up, got on a fifteen-hour flight and landed in America. I lived in the sprawling suburbia of the
Silicon Valley, a place so safe I ordered an iPhone (yes, I unashamedly fell pray to the mammoth American capitalist mentality) and it sat outside the doorstep for an entire weekend untouched. I learnt to order medium instead of large, and in turn, every American I met showcased their affinity for (American) geography by saying, when they learnt my name was Georgia: “Ohhh,
like the state right?” I was also the au pair of an eighteen-month-old toddler named *Misha.
Au pairing in the US or Europe is a remarkably popular choice for gap-yearers. You only have to open up any au pair website to be blasted with patriarchal-infused appeal: Get Paid to Play! Experience the American Dream!
And while that is all, of course, a little too picturesque to be wholly true, it is a cool venture, providing your gig ticks all the ‘as long as…’ boxes.
The Gapped Year 