In Argentina, Paola Rios felt like breaking out of her nice girl personality and transgressing. She pulled out thigh-high, spike-heeled leather boots and a leather outfit from one of her suitcases. When she picked up a black riding crop, she looked like a ball-busting, big-boobed bitch from a dominatrix cartoon. This was a different Paola from the sweet, eager girl-next-door we were used to. If clothes make the woman, then these clothes changed the woman. "I have an obsession with making a man touch me only when I decide, not them!" Paola said, looking every inch the Latin hellcat perched on the staircase of our Buenos Aires crib. Crack that crop, Paola.