Fashion and tourists
I’m an inquiring type. I like questions about questions. I asked the security guard at the Flamingo what the strangest question was, what was the weirdest thing he ever got asked. I asked the guy in line at the airport what his strangest question was, when he lived in Las Vegas. I asked a change redemption girl, and a cabby, on my way from the airport.
“You live here?”
I didn’t get it at first. I thought they were asking me if I lived in Las Vegas. With my nasal twang, it’s obvious that I’m not from around there. After the second or third time, I got it. Tourist, like myself, seem to have a problem understanding that there is more to Las Vegas than just airport and Strip. For that matter, I’ve seen very little of the strip. It is possible to walk outside the Flamingo, into the adjacent casino, through its other exit to walkway that goes over Flamingo Road, into Balley’s, through the casino to the tunnel to Paris, out of Paris, over the walkway on the Strip to some other casino, into their labyrinth casino, then onto a tramway, down to New York New York, and a monorail to Luxor, and Mandalay Bay, then back via another monorail to Paris. It’s a loop. All I ever saw. Not much time in natural light, not too much time in 100 degree heat. Lots of time in air-conditioned comfort with unnatural lighting. And ringing slot machines.
What’s the strangest question? “Visitors seem to think that that Las Vegas is either Strip or airport, nothing else.” Then there’s the tourists themselves. I’m no fashion guru. In fact, I’m pretty actively anti-fashion. It’s hard to come up with clothing that clashes as well as I can do it. It’s a unique talent that I have.
However, even my failed sense of fashion was offended by some of the attire I saw. Mostly, as noted by at least two other females I was with, there’s a lot of breasts in Las Vegas. Tons of tits. Not bare or exposed, but not far from being exposed, or that seemed to be the standard rule. Skin tight sin tight made for a new way of looking at things. Seems that tourists, once they arrive at Las Vegas, all tend to take leave of their collective sense of style, a lapse in mental acuity, and fashion sense goes right out the window.
What bothers me the most, though, is not that I watched in shock and amusement at the fashion – or lack thereof – but that I I’m at a complete loss for words, other than to suggest that my fashion sense was offended. It’s that bad.
No wonder I found myself speculating the same as every other tourist, “You **live** here?”
