In the spirit of the three-day work week, we are off on another mini-break! Love the mini-break! This time to SoBe for Art Basel. Pretty excited because I get to meet up with members of our Guelph urban family for their annual Miami trip. I think that this annual trip started as their romantic getaway, but now we are crashing the party every year. Friends, food, beach, art and Miami coolness. Love Miami! Miami takes cool to a whole new level. It will mess with your sense of style and your sense of self. When you pack for Miami, you need to bring out your hottest outfits. The ones that you have nowhere else to wear because they are just that fierce. Even then, the items that you thought were so risque, will usually result in the feeling that you look like a frumpy schoolmarm when you compare yourself to the shiney leggy ladies wearing skirts (I guess I’ll call them that) that just go past their naughty parts and seem to never ride up. (How? Why?)
This feeling that you have nothing to wear in Miami may cause a sudden urge to shop for Miami-appropriate attire, which will then lead to some predictably bad decisions. Friends don’t let friends buy Miami-based outfits. My friend purchased a pair of acid-whipped jeans in Miami. It seemed normal for him to buy and wear these when he was surrounded by acid-whipped denim and men that could pull this look off. And why not take a piece of this coolness back home? Unfortunately, the acid-whipped self-assurance did not translate to the streets of Guelph, Ontario and the extortionate outrageous denim stayed in the closet, pining for South Beach. I also got lulled into the idea that a pair of gold-sequinned short-short cut-offs (actually not short-shorts by Miami standards, but short-shorts by all other standards) would be an excellent choice for me in Miami and beyond. I thought they would be great to wear for a night out in Miami, but I quickly realized that these shorts are what the women in Miami where to the grocery store or to walk the dog. I seem to have a sequin purchasing problem that is exacerbated by both Miami and the holidays. I currently own a pair of sequinned shorts, two sequinned skirts, two pairs of sequinned pants and several sequinned dresses (four). I have nowhere to wear these sparkly items because: 1) I live on a farm, 2) I am veterinarian and 3) my lounge singer career has not really taken off. But I will continue to buy sequinned items, especially at this time of year. I just can’t help myself. It’s so pretty.
Miami Beach itself is a lot like the women who inhabit it, who start out with natural beauty and an ultra-cool sense of personal style. Enter men, with money, who want a piece of her. She never feels quite glam enough or sexy enough in the endless parade of competition. The ante keeps getting upped. That’s when the plastic surgery starts. Fake boobs, Botox, nose job and lip injections for starters. Not to mention working out, tanning and waxing and lasers to achieve a divine state of hairlessness. She is wearing so little that nothing is left to the imagination and she keeps on dancing to the ubiquitous house music because it is all so sexy. Never resting, sleeping or reflecting. If you saw a picture of Miami Beach before she started all the construction, you would never recognize her. Her natural beauty is gone and she just looks like everyone else.
So I am heading with Miami, armed with a lot of cash (easier to just accept that drinks cost $15 and move forward). I am also going to concede that coolness, hotness and wealth are all relative and in Miami, I fall down in all three categories. But I’m waxed up and my sequins are packed, ready for a mini get-way.