You Better Appreciate This Tan
It looks easy, doesn’t it? I just walk into a room and everyone says, "Hey, that White Dade, he’s got a nice tan." Yes, yes I do. And you damn well better appreciate it. Because while looking like the gardener’s baby may just seem like a natural part of living in South Florida, for a White man it is more work than you can imagine.
Do you know how embarrassing it would be for me, who lives in South Florida, to go ANYWHERE and NOT have a tan? When you say you’re form Miami, having skin roughly the color of an old potato is just expected. There is pressure on us White people to look as dark as we can before we leave the state. Otherwise we would be giving Floridians a bad name. And so we bust our asses to look as much like George Hamilton as possible, lest we hear the question all
Floridians dread: "I thought you moved to Miami. Why are you so pale?"
Picture this: You go out Friday night and get hammered. You stay out drinking until 4 AM only to be awoken on one of your two days off by an alarm at 10:30. Why so early? Because the good UV’s are only out from about 11 to 3, and since you are white, you most likely live in Pinecrest or Palmetto Bay, a good 45 minutes from the beach. If you’re lucky. You drag your ass out of bed and fight traffic, eventually putting your towel down next to the lifeguard stand at 8th street. It is 93 degrees with 85% humidity. Hotter than bloody Hell. No sane person would be outside for more than half an hour in this heat. But you stay. Soon the kids form Kendall and Westchester show up, blaring their Reggaeton and talking in Spanglish into their cell phones about nonsense you are glad you can only understand part of. Because the story about Alex and Marisol hooking up at Ale House last night is slightly more bearable when half the words are in a language you choose not to understand. You try and read your book, but it is fruitless as the noise of terrible music and mindless chatter are deafening. But you stay. Dreanched in sweat, you try and go in the water to cool off, only to find the Atlantic Ocean is roughly the right temperature to cook linguini. It is hot and you are pissed off and hungry and just want to go home and go back to sleep. But you stay. Why? Because you’re dedicated to your tan, that’s why. Those UV’s are yours, and you’ll be damned if some punk kids form west of the Turnpike are going to take them away from you.
On days when you don’t have to be at work until 1, you get up early and lay out by the pool. No errands get run or shopping gets done during your free time when it is sunny out, because that would be squandering your opportunity for more melanin. Call me an addict if you want, but my tan gets me laid.
That’s right. Tall, dark and handsome. That’s what the ladies love. I’m 6'2" but I don’t have the best looking face in the world, so a tan makes the difference between one and 2 out of three for me. Did you notice how my dark skin contrasts my blue eyes? So do I. Notice how my tan accentuates muscle definition? Shit took me nine hours in an outdoor sauna last week, you’d better fucking notice. This color does not come natural, folks. I had to work for every inch of brown skin I have.
My Mom is Russian, for Chrissakes. Every time I lose my tan, I have to go through one excruciating sunburn to get my base back. And let me tell you, trying to sleep when every skin cell in your body is on fire does not make for a pleasant night. But I grit through the pain because I know the glory of the end result. Skin cancer, you say? Bah! That shit was invented by people from northern cities who were jealous. Wrinkles? Men look distinguished with lines in their face. Right now I only know one white guy who tans better than I do, and I am pretty much convinced he’s half-Mexican anyway.
So the next time you see a guy tanning in a salon or on the beach, appreciate the discipline, dedication and toughness that a great tan requires. Know the hours of painful sunburns and grueling days on a hot, crowded beach that were needed to forge its creation. Know the time commitment and sacrifice that was put forth to look like a bronze God. Tanners are not wimpy metrosexuals, they are men willing to endure great physical and mental hardships to achieve their goals. When I was in my Marine Uniform, people used to stop me on the street and thank me for what I did. I think I should get the same appreciation for the work I put into my tan. Because while boot camp was three months and my contract lasted eight years, a good tan is a commitment that lasts a lifetime.
SPECIAL THANKS TO GRAIG'S BOY BRANE FOR SENDING ME THESE INTERSTING ALF PHOTOS. CHECK OUT HIS SITE www.myspaceis4noobs.com