You are a Poshaholic. Embrace it. If you had your way, you’d travel in a designer rail car made just for you. You prefer the caress of a fine Italian fabric to a hug from your mom. A monogrammed shirt? That’s posh. But monogrammed shoelaces on custom kicks? That’s a Poshaholic.
Can you hear the world beckoning, Technologian? Is it the wind or the call of the wild inviting you to frolic with the other woodland creatures? But, first you must find them. Grab your GPS. Don your kinetic-powered, moisture-wicking threads. And, go forth to play amongst the ancient pines with your high-tech toys.
Disco Trekker. You move through time zones like a wide receiver glides into the end zone. With power and grace. And, when the sun comes up on your destination, the DJ is still spinning like the globe on its eternal axis. The world is your club and you're VIP, with a carry-on.
Look alive, Cyber Survivor. It’s time to pack up, plug in and get going. You drool over the latest gadgets and head into the unknown to put them to the test. We're not talking a little red knife and a compass. We're talking night-vision goggles with GPS built in. So, you can get out to where you can see all of the stars, but not have to navigate by them.
Tasteblazer. You sit atop the food chain like it's your throne. You're a wandering foodie royalty. Taking full advantage of your position to nosh on the finest fare in all the land. Any land. For, you constantly crave the new. And, won't be sated 'til you’ve sucked the marrow out of the very bones of life itself.
"Off the rack" is not a term you're familiar with. You're a Trengineer. Rocking the latest fashions before they're off the runway. New threads inspire you. New places ignite you. You pair patterns and destinations like a connoisseur of style. The world is your fitting room. And, your passport, an accessory.
In the wild, you can always tell a Rustikeer by their swagger. And, you have swagger. It radiates off you like steam from a thoroughbred racehorse after a brisk morning workout. It’s as if you’re stepping off of the deck of an oceanliner, just back from a reckless adventure, your brow kissed by the sun of distant lands.
It's impossible. You’re tagged in pics at underground nightclubs from NY to LA. In the same night. You must be a Scenester. Rocking the latest fashions as you travel the world round. Top shelf. 24/7. Backstage passes. Limos. Yachts. Limos on yachts. Celebs beg you to get on the list. And, the paparazzi? They'd be your entourage if only they could keep up.
Celebutante, wherever you travel, all eyes turn to gaze upon your entrance. Crystal clinks, applauding your stylish threads and natural grace as you glide across the concourses of life like a well-groomed cheetah. Your calm demeanor belies your insatiable appetite for good adventure. And, your charm? It could get you onto the red carpet on any continent.
Oh great and wise, wandering Histocrat. When others can't remember the name of that guy, who did that thing, on that date, you do. Because you know all. And, are determined to have been everywhere. You've been to the ancient city and studied the forbidden scrolls. You dominate trivia. Intimidate professors. You even know where to get the best sushi. And, if you don't, your smartphone does.
Blisstorian. You wander far. So far, east becomes west. Searching the ancient temples to nourish both mind and body. Your restless spirit meanders like the Great Wall of China across the seas and continents. Drawing strength from the mystical incantations of the multi-limbed deities who watch over you on your journeys. If only they could carry your bags.
The well-worn trail is no place for you. For you are the Detourist. Grandmaster of the scenic route. Champion of the diversion. You know there's no point in going if you can't enjoy a few stops along the way. Local pubs. Cafes tucked into a side, side street. You don't fall for tourist traps. Because, well, you're a Detourist.
Nature Junky, we finally found you. Curled up under a giant sequoia on a soft bed of moss. Your guardian, Mother Nature, by your side. You heed the beckoning calls of the sweet sirens in distant forests. And, take control in unusual things. Under-hangs on technical routes. The dew on the rain fly of your yurt. It's all out there for you, Nature Junky. And, you get your fill.
Welcome, Zenturian. Shhhh, yes we know—you are welcome pretty much anywhere, which is good since you go just about anywhere. For you bring order out of chaos with your organic approach and digital vibe. What we're saying, Zenturian, is your traveler's aura is au natural. Some say it's your healthy appetite for food, drink and life. Others are convinced you aren't from around this cosmic plane. Either way, stick around.
Karmakaze! You scream as you dive headlong into the boiling surf. A jacked cyborg warrior taking on athletic adventures without fear or hesitation. The first one into the fray and the first one out of your singlet. Or as you prefer to think of it, battle armor. Either way, you win. Or, you die trying.
Hiplomat, you're at home being away from home—with your shoes off and a healthy tan, deep in the heart of a weekend outdoor music fest. This is your element. You bask in the radiance of multiple-stage venues and soak in the vibes of musicians and nature. You are a long-haired, leaping gnome with an all-access pass to the planet and a cooler full of fun.
Hey Glamologist. That’s right, you travel the world digging for glam like it’s gold. Vintage jeans nourish your soul. You feast on flannel and faux fur and revel in the contrast. Anything to complete your look. And, Glamologist, you look good.
Adrenalista indeed. You feel normal with your stomach in your throat and adrenaline ripping through your veins like wildfire. You push yourself to the edge with every new journey and hurl yourself over it with a maniacal grin. Then hop the next train to a far-off land just to do it all over again.
Everybody loves to travel with a Gastronaut. Whether regaling your mates with tales of yesteryear over a pint or just mulling over a snifter of brandy by the fire, you're always good company. And, with an insatiable appetite for history, you bring more to the dinner party than snappy threads and a bottle of vino. You bring tasty lore and witty repartee.
Farbarian, Farbarian, where for art thou, Farbarian? Off on some epic quest, no doubt. Your name belies your need to wander. Along the spine of the granite peaks to the west and among the rolling hills to the east. Farbarian, you make your mother weep with your wild travel adventures. But, Mother Nature weeps with joy.