Sundazed, Byredo I am at the beach this week -- in Ocean City, Maryland, to be specific -- holed up in a rented condo with my partner’s family; one of those creaky duplexes right near the shore where every indoor surface is always sandy and the towels are perennially damp and scented with a fine mist of mildew and coconut and sea brine. I’ve never been here before, to the kind of casual, cheesy Eastern beach town that boasts as its main attractions an abundance of dinosaur-themed mini-golf courses, a late night bowling alley with two for one Corona pitchers, rival frozen custard establishments, and several crab shacks where you could ride right up to the outdoor patio on a Jet Ski. Everyone here is sunburned and dishabille, having forgotten or discarded half of their outfits somewhere along the way. Women stroll along the Coastal Highway in flowy pants and bikini tops, or in neon pink rash guards with floral boy shorts, their butts emblazoned with the names of surfboard brands from the other side of the country. Any shoe more complex than a flip-flop feels out of place, laborious.
Perfume Diary: Under The Boardwalk (RS)
Perfume Diary: Under The Boardwalk (RS)
Perfume Diary: Under The Boardwalk (RS)
Sundazed, Byredo I am at the beach this week -- in Ocean City, Maryland, to be specific -- holed up in a rented condo with my partner’s family; one of those creaky duplexes right near the shore where every indoor surface is always sandy and the towels are perennially damp and scented with a fine mist of mildew and coconut and sea brine. I’ve never been here before, to the kind of casual, cheesy Eastern beach town that boasts as its main attractions an abundance of dinosaur-themed mini-golf courses, a late night bowling alley with two for one Corona pitchers, rival frozen custard establishments, and several crab shacks where you could ride right up to the outdoor patio on a Jet Ski. Everyone here is sunburned and dishabille, having forgotten or discarded half of their outfits somewhere along the way. Women stroll along the Coastal Highway in flowy pants and bikini tops, or in neon pink rash guards with floral boy shorts, their butts emblazoned with the names of surfboard brands from the other side of the country. Any shoe more complex than a flip-flop feels out of place, laborious.