The construction workers don't bother to whistle at hot-looking women walking by in South Beach. Their lips would be in a permanent pucker.
When people criticize the idealistic models in magazines and say, "Real women don't look like that," they obviously have not spent much time in South Beach, Miami. Here the six-pack-abs guys on the cover of Men's Health aren't some unattainable ideals to strive for.
They're locals. There are basically three types of people in South Beach, Miami. Models, beautiful people, and the imperfect. That last group could appeal for minority status. You expect the lifeguards and the personal trainers to be attractive, but here the hot factor touches everyone: bartenders, waiters, European tourists, bike shop workers, Brazilians, MILFs, nannies, and the three cops who pinned down a chubby man in front of me and handcuffed him.
Was he arrested for being fat and ugly? No, turns out he'd been filmed impersonating a parking lot attendant and collecting money. In a lot with automated payment kiosks. The beautiful people in the majority seem to mostly bike, jog, lift weights at Crush, and wear outfits from Under Armor and Lulu Lemon. At night they have dinner in chic restaurants before hitting the clubs in Prada and Versace. Ads on the side of city tour buses feature Guess jeans models and the shared bikes at city kiosks define Miami with a photo of a woman in a bikini looking at modern art in a gallery.
When I walk along Collins Avenue at dusk one evening, a something woman sashays down the sidewalk in my direction, the folds of her low-cut silk blouse and perfectly cut raincoat swaying just as they would on the fashion runway. I am struck not by her inherent beauty or curvesβboth practically a given hereβbut by her seemingly impossible proportions. With a height well north of six feet and legs looking like they would come up past my belly button, she is too fashion-mag perfect to be believed.
