If there is one song to sum up my trip to South Beach, Miami it's the Sesame Street song, "One of these things is not like the others."
That thing is me.
In South Beach I am considered frighteningly pale, grandmother conservative and unwilling to walk around without clothes on. My sister and I happened to be in town during an electronic music festival and people seemed to go by the mantra, clothing optional.
There was underwear that passed as shorts, heels paired with bathing suits, and bikini tops worn as real tops. Overly suntanned bodies busted out of bright neon apparel. Men wore tank tops that they cut open on the sides, to completely negate the point of wearing a tank top.
I missed the memo and wore a knitted vest to a pool party over my bathing suit. My sister, who I always gush about how beautiful she is, was much admired by these muscle men. I generally stood back and chaperoned with my eyes as to say, Be careful beefcake, that's my baby sis.
With only a weekend to spend in the city of skin, the sis and I balanced parties with daytime strolling down Lincoln Road, where I enjoyed sipping iced Americanos and not wearing a parka. We also managed to find my favourite NYC burger spot, The Shake Shack and my sister's favourite Parisian macaron shop Ladurée. On Saturday night, I loosened up as per my sister's orders, and wore one of her dresses that could only be described as human sausage casing.
If there is one thing I learned from South Beach, it's that confidence is the secret to looking good, whether you're wearing a turtleneck or a thong bikini.
Although I never saw any turtlenecks.