Cheap airfare. Cheaper hookups. Sloppily leaning out of the balcony of your restored Art Deco hotel room shrieking, “It’s spriiiiiiing break, betches!”
There’s a reason Miami is consistently ranked among Coed Magazines top 20 “Trashiest Spring Break Destinations.” Feel free to spend your break helping turn our beautiful, complicated and cosmopolitan city into a Joe Francis fever dream. But you should know that we do, despite some pretty damning Youtube videos to the contrary, actually have standards here.
So here’s our spring break advice on how to keep it classy, bro.
Pretty much every spring break super-cut features a sloppy montage of beer-can-crushing, margarita-swilling sameness. Don’t be so basic. Put on some pants and check out Miami’s burgeoning brewery scene — such as like Concrete Beach Brewery, which crafts artisanal craft beer in the heart of Wynwood. Or challenge your palate and order a handcrafted cocktail at the James Beard Award semi-finalist bar, the Broken Shaker. Just please: Show some respect. Gabriel Orta and Elad Zvi did not spend hours perfecting herb-infused elixirs for you to chug them down like some frat bro trying to prove something.
Yes, most places on the Beach are within walking distance. Yes, you will probably pay an absurd amount thanks to the satanically incomprehensible algorithm Uber calls “surge pricing.” But it’s hard to look elegant while tottering drunkenly down Collins in sky-high wedges, pulling on the hem of your mini-skirt with one hand while trying to Google-map“Nikki Beach”on your iPhone with the other.
Added bonus: Nothing channels the zero-effs given vibe of a millennial Marie Antoinette better than passive-aggressively asking, with a lord-this-party-is-lame eye-roll, “Does anyone want to share an Uber with me? Like now?” Because we all know passive aggression is the classiest form of aggression.
Okay, maybe not literally your dad. We don’t know your dad. Your dad may eat nothing but Applebee’s cheeseburger eggrolls. We mean eat like an archetypal, midcentury Don Draper kind of dad. By which we mean at a classy-AF steak house: Capital Grille in Downtown Miami for old-school appeal, Meat Market on Lincoln Road and BLT Steak at the Betsy Hotel for a more modern twist. Warning: This will not be cheap — at least not compared to the standard college diet of Red Bull and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. But think of it as an opportunity to research next semester’s term paper: “Hello, I’m subverting the patriarchy by ironically embracing symbols of privilege!” Entire graduate theses have been built on less. You could probably win some sort of grant. Consider this money well spent. (Or your parents’ money. We won’t judge.)
Believe it or not, there’s more to do in Miami than endlessly jiggling around the pool deck dancing to Pitbull songs. Catch an arthouse movie at an independent cinema like O Cinema Wynwood. Stroll through the galleries of the Pérez Art Musem Miami, which not only boasts an impressive collection of international art, but is also an unlikely place to find some rando grinding up on your backside.
Nothing says classless dum-dum like clogging up the sidewalk while you and your friends take selfie after selfie in front of the Kardashian-owned Dash Miami store. Please move along. Some of us live here, and we have to work in the morning.
There may come a time over the next few sun-soaked, two-for-one days in the Magic City where you might think it’s a good idea to:
a.) Reenact the Patrick Swayze-Jennifer Gray finale from Dirty Dancing in the lobby of your hotel. Solo.
b.) Strip down and douse yourself with condiments at a national hamburger chain.
c.) Fight a DJ.
Don’t do any of this. Trust me. There is no worse feeling than waking up to a flood of texts saying, “I saw you on World Star (hand-clap emoji)!!!”
You would think this goes without saying. You would be wrong. It happens every year around this time, with startling regularity, thanks to a combination of ill-considered day-drinking and sun exposure. Between rising sea levels and receding shore lines, we’ve got enough to worry about without you upending the contents of your stomach onto our unsuspecting marine life. If you feel the need to puke seaside, please puke discreetly into your beach tote. Like a lady.