Fast and louche
(The Guardian, 2004)
Heading to Miami’s South Beach, I was hoping that the local culture would stretch somewhat further than the upturned sleeves of Don Johnson’s white linen suit. You should, of course, be careful what you wish for. I later discovered it surpassed even this, to the unimaginable artistic heights of Derek Jameson having a principal role in their annual British panto. Do they mean U.S.? They surely do.
For the sand-phobic visitor, and those of us who resemble tempura after an hour in the sun, this Art Deco neighbourhood suggested character enough to provide distraction beyond the usual beach-based basting sessions.
The historic district has become a haven for artsy bohemians, Latin Americans and Jewish New Yorkers who couldn’t take the weather any more. It promised to throw up an interesting cultural mix, even outside providing seasonal employment for expat professional cockneys.
If you’re going to the Sunshine State, though, you may as well stay close to the ocean. The Townhouse Hotel is a stone’s throw from the surf, and checking in, I immediately felt very Miami Beach, or at least as much Miami Beach as a pasty Brit with no tanning ability, let alone Hawaiian shirts in his wardrobe, can feel.
The hotel name is a misleading one, and the rooms are bright white and about as urban as a sand dune. Quirky touches such as in-room beachballs, coupled with a décor that oozes seashore chic, make them feel like the most comfortable beach hut you’ve ever seen. All that’s missing is a hammock, and perhaps someone on the balcony playing the ukulele as you kick back.
Later, in their chi-chi basement sushi bar, Bond Street, I learn that the area is currently an A-list celebrity magnet. The locals, though, have a relaxed attitude to the many stars that apparently wander amongst them with tedious regularity. The manager blithely mentions that Ricky Martin is a “once a week-er” and though the Latino pop idol proves elusive, I do get to share table space with Boris Becker’s elbows, so I don’t feel too disappointed.
The Art Deco walking tours are a popular activity, and the next day I discover that the district is compact enough to saunter around and soak up some of the finer period details. My urbane guide, George Neary, explained the character of the locale: “What you’re seeing is actually a wide range of styles. Starting with the Mediterranean revival of the 1920s, through the Art Deco of the 30s and 40s, to the modernism of the 50s.”
The result is an arresting array of low-rise strips in a neighbourhood that could easily be used should there be a situation requiring an emergency staged adaptation of an MGM musical. The buildings are all pastel shades and sleek curves, and even newer constructions such as a recently built Post Office, are legally bound to visual assimilation. Art Deco trademarks include sculptured panels, porthole windows and lashings of neon.
“We like to say that the buildings are in conversation with each other,” says George. I imagine that conversation mostly centres around recipes for Dry Martinis and Joan Crawford movies, but the architectural consistency is nothing if not evocative.
The apparent uniformity is deceptive, though, and the district in fact showcases a litany of design movements, taking in Streamline Moderne, Stripped Classical, Depression Moderne, De Stijl and Bauhaus. Thankfully, the collective term for this spectrum of Miami Modernism is abbreviated to the handy bite-size adjective, ‘MiMo’.
When I ask George about the demographic makeup of the area, he tells me, “It’s Latino, Jewish and gay. With maybe one gay Latino Jew somewhere.” The Latin component is easily the most visible, especially with the number of Cubans and South Americans who have made South Beach their home. Other people later tell me that it’s one of the few places in the US where people will initially speak to you in Spanish.
The local artistic leanings have been developed with the annual hosting of Art Basel Miami Beach. Each December, 175 leading art galleries exhibit works by over 1000 artists in this American sister event of Art Basel Switzerland, the most important annual art show in the world.
This kind of high-profile, highbrow swaggering may seem incongruous in a seaside resort, a bit like holding a Samuel Beckett retrospective at Pontins, but it’s a town founded on appreciation for the finer things in life.
Along those very lines, the spanking new Ritz Carlton Hotel is the latest big player to open up on South Beach. At the prestigious 1 Lincoln Rd address, it’s a complete restoration of the historic DiLido Hotel, once the louche hub of South Beach living.
The hotel is replete with elegant artworks from collector and hotel co-owner Diana Lowenstein, with period pieces hung intelligently around the lobby and restaurants. The style is pitched as “Nautical Moderne”, and there is more than a hint of ocean liner decadence about the place.
The real highlight, though, is the poolside area, which has the kind of upbeat 1920s lido sophistication that demands you have a cocktail to hand as well as your trunks. They even have nightly water ballet displays, where synchronised aquatic flappers Charleston their way into the pool. If you’re trying hard to look like Gary Cooper it’s, well, super-duper, and the high density of hotel competition means that indulgence needn’t mean high society prices.
There’s a private path down to the beach, where locals mingle with tourists on the relaxed ocean front. Despite the number of solar disciples that flock to what is perhaps the most famous beach in the country, there are more loungers than David Dickinson has had hot sunbeds, and room enough for everyone to take that tanning to competitive levels.
If you’re suffering from bikini fatigue after a long stretch in the sun, the Wolfsonian Institute (1001 Washington Avenue) is a suitably intellectual sanctuary to recharge your cultural batteries. It was founded in 1986 to preserve the eclectic collection of Michael Wolfson Jr, a magpie’s nest of over 100,000 pieces that document the historical influence of design on our society.
It’s a fascinating collection of posters, artwork and household accessories, that analyses the sociological and political implications of art, mass production and decoration. You could wile away a good few hours disseminating the semiotics of domestic appliance ergonomics, or, like me, just check out some really cool retro phones.
A neighbouring hotel that also has design on its mind is the Clinton. A boutique affair that bypasses the formality of the Ritz, it instead settles effortlessly into the laid back glamour of the local neighbourhood. Private balconies, in-room Jacuzzis and a suave terrace area conjure up a spirit of evolved hedonism.
I wondered about the presidential associations of The Clinton’s name, though after a fruitless search for the Monica Lewinsky memorial cigar humidor, I was told that it had simply retained its original pre-Bill moniker. Refurbished buildings in the Art Deco district are often required to keep their original facades, and even ones taking new names will often also bear the original signs. The effect is a constant shadow of how the district originally was, despite the constant redevelopment.
South Beach nightlife is a high-octane contrast to lazy days spent gadding around looking at buildings. Expat Geordie Nick McCabe runs the local club listings website cooljunkie.com, and kindly offered to show me the velvet ropes. Each club is a bling and buy sale of conspicuous consumption, and with entry seemingly granted on the basis of good looks alone, I was grateful for such a fortunate contact.
In the dazzlingly hip environs of Opium, I unwittingly upped my cool by sharing club space with J-Lo’s ex-squeeze P Diddy. By sharing, I of course mean I fought for breath among the writhing hordes whilst he lounged about behind four lines of obsidian security, in a VIP area so exclusive it barely extended beyond his personal surface area. His loss, though - I was going to offer to buy him a pint.
My last few days coincided with the Art Deco festival, an annual fundraiser aimed at preserving the unique architecture and celebrating all things MiMo. The action takes place on the famous Ocean Drive, with such iconic edifices as the Versace Mansion providing the backdrop.
There’s all manner of arts and crafts that are, however tenuously, connected to the early 20th century, and private collections of cars from a bygone era line the street. Swing Jazz hangs heavy in the air, and there’s a roaring trade in beaded handbags and vintage lithographs. The concession stands are touting vermouth in stead of lite beer, which can only be a good thing.
It’s a fitting tribute to the sense of community that has developed in this coastal oddity of a neighbourhood. Local artists, retired couples, Latino DJs and muscle-bound sun-worshippers all seem happy to share a place that refuses to relinquish its sense of time. And if enthusiastic preservation is a Miami vice, then South Beach is guilty as charged.