The street vendor smiled at me, but she didn't look at the camera

In the southern Vietnamese town of My Tho, a woman sat by the roadside, clearly a street vendor. At her feet were baskets and pots—apparently holding food for sale. A large conical hat perched neatly on her head, its chin strap tied firmly beneath her jaw. In this tropical sun, such shade was less a choice than a necessity.

When I raised my camera, I thought she glanced at me for a moment, but almost immediately she looked away, opening her mouth wide in a smile. Even as she laughed, she never met the lens head-on, tilting her face slightly to the side. Was it shyness? A lingering belief in the old superstition that photographs steal one’s soul? Or simply that her attention was more on her wares than on me? Whatever the reason, her smile carried both friendliness and a trace of guardedness.

In Vietnam, the conical hat—known as nón lá—is made from bamboo and palm leaves. It shields against rain and sun alike, and flipped upside down, it can serve as an impromptu bowl. Many market and street vendors wear it for hours on end, holding out beneath its brim against heat, downpours, and the endless dance of bargaining.

In the end, I walked away without buying anything, yet her smile has stuck in my memory. I can’t say I regret not making a purchase—but if that smile had been part of the price, I might have loosened my purse strings.