Last week I said that Boca is the 3D printer of the pretty girl stereotype. This doesn’t just apply to 20somethings. Women of all ages here traipse around in workout gear, and they look phenomenal. It’s like everyone’s heading to cheer practice.
I do my best to maintain hippiehood. I don’t often wear makeup, I haven’t had my jew curls flat ironed and I can still degenerate luxury to beater in two months flat. But I’ve come around the bend to stretchypanttown, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. If I didn’t have to cohabitate, I’d revel in my after-workout stink all the damn day.
On the west coast (of Florida) people walk around in bathing suits. They eat in bathing suits, take out the trash in bathing suits, and mow the lawn in bathing suits. It’s both nice and appalling, the second because of the astoundingly uninhibited banana-hammock-clad geriatrics. For real, I am ALL about sticking it to body dysmorphia and letting my cellulite out of the cage, but there’s something about an ex-northern leather bag in a thong that calls to mind HBO’s Real Sex circle jerks. I know I’m not alone here–a lot of my readers are my age. Remember those clips when a group of ‘heterosexual’ guys go out into nature to learn about tantric masturbation? No?
Anyway, it’s boca. We’re an age-defying, tattoo-eyeliner decorated populace. I sailed into college from a snowy catapult, and it set the stage for so much of my experience and path-choosing. I wonder what my kids are going to long for after 13 years of this. A world without gated communities, probably.