There is nothing fashionable about Real Life -- which makes spring break analogous to haute couture.
I spent Spring Break with a gaggle of girls on a "todo incluido" vacay in Puerto Vallarta, a land dominated mostly by borderline obese old people and fabulously fit homosexual men.
There was no TV or easily accessible telephone. There was no one nagging us about things that needed doing. There was only sun and beach and the very difficult decision about what bikini and sunscreen to wear in order to achieve optimal bronzing, and what time happy hour should begin in order to achieve optimal buzz.
Everything was a "two-for-one special." And everything was "almost free."
Those two phrases automatically eliminate anyone like Oscar de la Renta or La Lohan from vacationing at our luxurious resort, but it certainly made our trip more enjoyable -- and bill free. The only worry --- aside from whether to get in the ocean (rinse), put on more sun block (baste), or flip over (cook evenly) --- was whether the beach regulars (all aptly named by us for their distinguishing characteristics) would appear and make our day just a little bit better because of their presence.
The company of "Balls," "The Montgomery's: The "ber-Tan Smokers," "Frijoles" (pronounced free-JOE-lays) the outspoken vegetarian, and Enrique, the bearer of unlimited guac and margaritas las rocas, was of dire importance to our beachside well-being.
It's not like we actually spoke to these people -- aside from Enrique. It's just that the discussion of, say, the enormous "situation" that gave "Balls" his name provided hours of amusement. "Balls," one of the less fit of the fabulously fit homosexual men, and his rather unfortunate (or fortunate? We didn't know.) "assets" gave new meaning to the childhood song, "Do your ears hang low?"
And the rest of our idle hours were spent entertaining the idea of inviting "Frijoles" to a meat party (what that would be, I don't really know). Imagine the possibilities. "Balls" could even be invited. Basically, everything wrong --- like sucky snorkeling and rash-inducing jellyfish stings -- could easily be made right by milking our $64 open-bar snorkeling adventure for all it was worth. (On that note, I foresee snorkel gear hitting the runway some time soon. Big sunglasses are already in -- goggles-and-breathing-tube combos are just a season away. Fins turn out to be the least functional footwear ever to exist. And it turns out that you can pop the collar of neon-yellow inflatable life vests. Who knew? Lacoste and Polo should take heed.)
Back in Real Life, where we unfortunately now find ourselves, real-world worries abound. Once again we're forced to squeeze into jeans that, after finals snacking and 7 days of margaritas and taquitos, don't fit quite as well. The days of forgiving bathing suits, stretchy cover-ups and loose sarongs are over. And the "extensive" workout routine has forced itself back into effect (i.e. I think about it much more than I actually do it).
In the few days I have been home, I have had to register my car, get it inspected, return library books (harder than it seems), pay bills, get a drug test, replace a lost cell phone, excessively discuss post-graduation plans with the 'rents, and write another thesis chapter (Self-call? So lame). And the tan I worked so hard to get has effectively fallen off. All that's left is a plethora of freckles which effectively raises my Total Freckle Count to "Infinite" while allowing my skin to maintain its white-as-a-ghost glow-in-the-dark appeal.
Performing any of those tasks was like pulling teeth I didn't know I had (impacted wisdom teeth?). Except for the Magical Disappearing Tan. That seemed to happen naturally. I think Real Life scared it away.
My mind is still on spring break, but everything else is saying the vacation's over. (Sort of like those lyrics to that Christina Aguilera song, circa 1999, "Genie in a Bottle," but not really at all: "My body's saying let's go, but my heart is saying no.") No part of my body or heart is saying "let's go" to Real Life.
This is the time that senioritis peaks, but we are not quite able to let the good times roll. Real Life is never very enjoyable, nor is it ever fashionable. There will never be an article in Vogue about the newfound trendiness of paying your phone bill or getting pulled over by the cops because you didn't register your car on time.
"Trendy" is the platform wedge or the weekend getaway to St. Bart's. Anything that elevates you from the grounding effects of real-life gravity or that gets you away from wherever Real Life takes you -- that's what "fashionable" is. Fashion is anything to help you escape from the mundane and anxiety-ridden Life of the Everyday.
Edy Wilson '06 once told me that during the wintertime when she was but a wee babe, she used to get all dressed in her beachwear, slather herself with sunscreen and lay out a beach towel on the floor of her bedroom. Her parents tried to tell her it wasn't time to go to the beach. But she knew what she was doing. It was all in the name of fashion: an escape from Real Life.
That moment came full circle on our P.V. vacay, when, while enjoying the open bar of the snorkeling adventure boat, a man who looked like a pierced and tattooed forty-year-old fusion of Karl and Eric Johnson '06 (a.k.a. Johnson Twins 2K26) commented on the curious way Edy was wearing what he called her "wrap."
Confused and creeped out, she replied, "Oh, it's a sarong."
"Sarong?" Johnson Twins 2K26 said. "Sa-RIGHT!"
Whenever Real Life gets a little bit too real, it never hurts to pull out a beach towel and throw on a sarong -- or get stung by a jelly fish. If Johnson Twins 2K26 had anything to say about fashion, a precariously placed sarong would always be sa-right at any time of year. And as Stephanie Herbert '06 astutely notes, a jelly fish sting can be the perfect accessory to any outfit: "Nothing says spring break like an unidentified itchy rash!"
Johnson Twins 2K26 obviously knew what he was talking about. So does Steph so Dartmouth. Being on spring break is like being permanently in style. I'm sure "Balls" and "Frijoles" would agree.
