I expected Miami to be hot, loud and a place where my comfort level was not only ignored but obliterated. However, with a particularly lovely group of girls in tow and an especially wonderful bride-to-be at the helm, the trip was set up to be epic in the very best way. As I wrote this post in my Notes on the iPhone, I sat on a plane (aisle seat, thank god) with feet swelled up like loaves of bread and eyes that refused to open all the way. But the memories are worth it. And as I “detoxed” Sunday night on a diet coke and Evian with a side of fashion magazines, the morning’s bloody Mary’s a distant and delightful memory, I peacefully relived all my favorite moments from the weekend. Most importantly, the clothes. Or lack thereof.
The fashion in Miami was seriously fun to observe. I don’t always think that a sartorial scene needs to be chic in order to be fashionable. Women are more free in this beach city and what you throw on in the morning makes sense by the pool, in the street, and for many, at work. Sheer tops are the norm, butts are hanging out of cutoff shorts on line for the ATM at Walgreens. You get the idea. Everything in Miami, even the hair, just oozes sex appeal. For our big night out on Saturday, we had blowouts. We each asked for something different and all ended up with the same look. Luxe, bouncy beach waves plucked fresh from the pages of Cosmo. No argument here, even though I’d specifically requested a bone-straight look. Those Miami beach waves were a better choice. Who am I to argue with a woman in a skin-tight turquoise maxi dress and winged black eyeliner?
Admittedly, I awoke our first morning there to discover a drafted but unsent text to my fiancé stating, “Hunzy, I want boobs.” However, I honestly believe that whatever your bod looks like in Miami, you totally fit in. Nudity was major on the beach and in the streets. From the super-skinny chick with butt implants we spotted in a white thong bikini (I’ve never seen butt implants in person! Crazy!) to the saggier, or curvier, or more natural, or less natural, everyone let it hang out from the brunch table to the dance floor.
Hey, that’s cool. I rocked a one-piece (albeit it a skimpy one), and at night, a flowing chiffon dress with my Frye platforms. Do I own sluttier outfits? Certamente! But they have no place on a trip where my fiancé is not present, so I was content to be the demure girl with the bouncy waves in a dress that forgave my expanding waist line after a dinner of fish, beef and coconut sticky rice with myriad wine and cocktails. (Hey, Fitness Pal. Happy Monday… I’ve missed you, too).
If I’d been in town longer, I would have loved to shop a bit, take a ride on a boat, and explore. But for a 40-hour trip, we packed in a lot. Including, might I add, an hour of (girls-only!) skinny dipping that had us momentarily in really deep sh*t with hotel security. Luckily, I talked us out of that one while strategically hiding my naked bod in the shadowy water. Hey, you can take the girl to Miami, but you can’t break her modesty in the space of a weekend.