Nevada has some of the most spectacular scenery on earth. Of course I’m talking about people watching in Vegas. Archetypes from across the globe congregate in droves every year. Although the numbers are down this year the quality of the participants is as strong as ever. Here are some of the classics you may run into by the pool, in the casino or meandering the strip.
An unlikely but not infrequent poolside phenomenon, this person has imported the European poolside attire to Nevada. What works in the south of France just has to work in Paris on the strip. Typically the Euro-pouch has the requisite speedo swimsuit, well trimmed executive hair and almost always a thin gold chain.
This homage to the King is usually worn by people who were born after Elvis died. The look includes shirts with unnaturally large collars, a patterned sport coat and can involve argyle (generally during periods of travel).
The Low Roller:
She’s been coming to Vegas for years. Hell, where else can you smoke in the lobby of the hotel? Her signature look is best showcased at the nickel slots and includes a crucifix cross pendant over the pink or light blue shortsleeve sweater. She’s on a fixed income now but that’s all the more reason to double-down.
Growing up is for pussies. That’s why it’s important to keep on givin’ er even at the risk of cardiac failure. He’s a sport fucker and a power drinker. Smoke ‘em if you got em. We’ll see him later at the strip club and he’ll be wearing jeans, belt buckle, cowboy boots, and a well managed moustache. He may have his shirt off. He’ll be sunburned and chewing nicarette. Who says you can ‘t smoke and chew gum at the same time?
The Ball & Chainer:
He always wanted to go to Vegas he was just hoping he wouldn’t have to bring the old lady. Oh well baby, maybe we can make into a romantic thing? Nothing says I love you more than all you can eat bacon. In the meantime she’s in a set of tight lulu lemon pants (cause she’s still got it) and is a bit clingy. The ballcap and the mirror shades will help conceal his wandering eye. He insists on shorts at the airport, as he’d hate to miss the few precious hours of tan time on the way to the casino.
The Southwest cougar:
She’s entered the viscous cycle of fighting dry old hair by applying another round of bleach and thereby worsening the situation. After decades of the practice the pretence of natural blondness is a farce and the shade now signifies a willingness for casual sex more than Nordic genes. She’s got it tied back in a scrunchie. You know she wears a thong under that gold belt. Oh and just because your cleavege is getting leathery doesn’t mean you can’t flaunt it.
Vegas is not hip or original. Vegas is a cop out. It is Disneyland for grown-ups. It represents a lack of imagination in envisioning what might constitute a good time. At best a trip to Vegas can be appreciated as a sociological study in an endangered and soon to be obsolete lifestyle. Nonetheless there are those who are proud they’ve finally made the pilgrimage. Hey man, it’s something you gotta do once. At least it’ll give them something to tell the grandkids when they catch them smoking hash.
Girls night out (extended version):
This is the person that the Ball & Chainer would hook up with if he wasn’t with his girlfriend. She sports a high-rise blow out, love handles, a push up bra and is anxious to get irresponsibly drunk. Whatever happens in Vegas makes you itchy.