Many of us break away from the gray Indiana winter days looking for warmer clime and a few rays of sun. Some head to the Caribbean, others to the great American Southwest. But the majority find their way to the various resorts and barrier islands along the south coast of Florida. The populations swell, seasonally, with all manner of pasty-pale northerners from Manitoba to Tennessee, all seeking a few days of beach time to scrub the accumulated barnacles from too many short and dreary days.
Even then, we arrive, carrying still our winter pounds – too soon from the holidays and too shut-in by the weather to have shed them – even as we lug our suitcases filled with bright, cool clothing waiting since September to be worn again. But alongside has come to be this new breed of Floridite — the “beautiful person.” They have decamped the notion of ever returning to the homeland that spawned them, instead satisfied, buoyed by trust-funds or fortune, to live the vacation life year-round. The day consists of various forms of newly discovered exercise and detoxification. Then comes shopping, fluffing, buffing and rearranging — all required to keep the outward presentation up to date. Afternoon brings social media and a consensus with others of their ilk on where the clump will congeal for dinner and entertainment that night and overnight.
To meet the test, the restaurants and clubs must only admit “beautiful people” (and the very, very rich). Even better if the venue allows for an appropriately distant place for the regular folks to gawk and applaud such that the “beauties” can feign an inconvenience at it all. Still, the spontaneous choreography is beautiful and tragic. It may be time for a lemon-grass-avocado rub – or is that a toast?