When I was a New Yorker, the flight to Miami was the preferred winter escape for everyone from Upper West Side Jews to Lower East Side hipsters. New Yorkers love Miami. We’d all decamp from the grey for long weekend’s beginning in December with Art Basel and ending in February as the various winter equestrian circuits wrapped.
Every restaurant that was popular in New York had its own branch tucked away in some form of boutique luxury hotel. The clothing stores had branches down here too. Even our preferred gyms like Equinox had their Miami outposts. Miami was in my mind the “Winter Borough” of New York City.
So I’ve been a little tickled by it’s adoption in the pandemic years as the New “New York” because it’s still the old New York for me. But it’s never been a particularly viable replacement as an all year respite as it’s the fucking tropics.
Even though it’s only April the muggy sticky soul sapping humidity is out in full force. I was awake at 7am and went outside to forage for coffee and breakfast. I could barely make it a block before I was perspiring. It was 79 degrees and 86% humidity.
Maybe I’m just a wuss. I fully admit that I’ve never liked the heat. I can barely tolerate Colorado’s dry heat. So I feel like I’m wilting in the Miami heat. I’m just not built for the tropics. And I’m not sure society is either if you have to run air conditioning year round.
I don’t think I’ve got the stamina to survive a power outage in Miami. The preppers and doomers that can make it through hurricane season impress me. Imagine going without power for several weeks after a hurricane. Days of a 72 degree dew point and 86% humidity are survivable but just barely. Hot weather doomers are nuts in my book.