I’ve lived in Tampa for a few years now but recently I’ve been frequenting the more “uppity” part of town, so to speak. This is known to locals as South Tampa: an area inhabited mostly by folks labeled as anything from bourgeoisie to upper class. After all, we are a culture that tends to categorize people based on their economic and monetary status.
Shallow, superficial, sad, but true.
South Tampa is fun. South Tampa is “happenin’”. South Tampa has bars, clubs, restaurants, pool halls, you name it- all condensed in a span of a few blocks from Point A to Point B. In high school lingo, it’s where all the “cool people” go. It’s where the “popular” crowd is at. The cream of the crop. If the Great Gatsby were still alive, South Tampa is where he’d want to hand out invitations to his lavish parties.
As the number of my visits to West Egg rises, my amazement with the surrounding aesthetics increases. The men are fit, handsome, and well-groomed (some down to the precision of their eyebrows) not to mention fittingly obnoxious. Even the ones who have a more laid-back devotion to their appearance bear the look of sexy scruffiness with charming smiles- my personal preference… all seemingly well-to-do folks with a decent amount of intellectual sense for a conversation.
And the women…oh, the women; as a self-proclaimed devotee of trendy fashion, I can honestly say I feel like a kid at an eye candy store in Sexy I mean South Tampa. Women who dare to wear coral lipstick and neon colors, high heels and gold earrings. I can dress like the true Arab that I am and not get mocked. Save for my star-shaped, frizz-infested hair, I fit right in. And fit right in is what I want to do!
I didn’t realize how dependent I had become to this candy store until last night when I had the ultimate wake-up call. I realized I was seeing the same people over and over again. This prompted a scary thought: that means they see me here over and over again. Granted one guy didn’t remember me but I won’t take that personally.
Have I become one of them? Am I… South Tampanian? Wait, let’s test this out: ask me where I go to socialize. *Gasp* South Tampa!
But I liked fitting in. Fitting is what we want, right-to feel a part of something bigger? I mean, don’t we all long to be one of those relatively few, fortunate ones to whom money is no object and for whom life is one big party where worries and stress do not exist? Ideally, yes. Heck, I’ll be the first to admit that I am eagerly seeking some semblance of financial freedom.
But are they free? Are we free… or are we prisoners to the modern-day definition of what’s “hip”? As the number of my visits to West Egg rises, my ability to become impressed with the surrounding aesthetics decreases. My tolerance is building and it takes more to impress me or should I say it’s my intolerance that is growing? Think of it this way, put more simply, if you will: The first time you go the circus, it’s all new and fun and exciting but then that excitement tapers off until eventually it just becomes a thing you do with slight variations from each time to the next. The first bite of the chocolate cake is divine and by the last bite, you’re thinking “get this away from me”.
I’m not quite at the last bite yet but I see myself getting there. Then what?