Recession? Apparently not in South Beach

Every day the New York Times tells me we're in the midst of a financial crisis. In case I forget, the radio news, the television news, the homeless guy on the corner, the schools I applied to for my PhD and my bank account all find ways to remind me that money is scarce, a depression has hit us and it's going to take a while to get back up.

But if you ask the Ritz Carlton South Beach, or anyone in South Beach right now, they'll tell you something different. Money is flowing there -- thick and quickly, right out of the pockets of well-dressed men in Prada sunglasses and Ferragamo loafers. The high end bars of the Shore Club and the Delano, where martinis are $16 a pop, haven't yet felt the pull of tightening belts. Sitting outside of Nobu at the Shore Club, sipping sake, I watched Rolex Submariner clad wrists drop Benjamin Franklins and Amex Black cards on the wooden bar in front of me. There wasn't an ounce of concern in their eyes. As they wrapped their tanned arms around the under-dressed, well-bejeweled women at their side, it was clear -- there was more of that where that came from.

Poolside at the Ritz, a group of 5 people rented one of the luxury lounge beds for two days at $400 a day. The lounge beds included a fruit plate and some champagne. But that wasn't enough for them. They proceeded to order champagne and margaritas like they were tap water. I suspected they were there with the Miami Film Festival. Only Hollywood wannabes would think that kind of spending was a good idea... recession or no recession. And apparently, the film industry is the only one making money right now. No one wants to watch CNN anymore and hear about how their entire savings, which is invested in Citigroup Stock, has vanished, so they're spending what income they have in the theaters on depressing movies about broken marriages and the Holocaust. Go figure.

It was a bit surprising. You would think with companies cutting back the high roller hotels and restaurants would be suffering a bit. But not in the slightest. The people that have the kind of money that buys you cars like most people buy chewing gum, always have money. And those people were all in South Beach with me.

Clearly all the other under-30 women who were there knew about these and neglected to send me the memo that said: If you want to land one of these titanium amex toting gents, or just go out in Miami, whip out the 5-inch cork-heel sandals, mico minis and double padded pushup bras, straighten your hair and apply enough eyeliner so you look like a raccoon. I haven't seen so many average looking women so over made-up, so under dressed and so unbalanced on their feet since the last Miss America Pageant. I guess they had all taken a page out of Patti Stanger's book. There I was at the Shore Club bar, minimalist makeup, dressed in a high-waisted knee-length black Cynthia Steffe skirt with a black lace top I had bought in 2000 (no joke) and flat sandals, surrounded by boobs, bad Pucci knockoff minidresses and skyscraper espadrilles feeling like a mushroom. Apparently, New York chic doesn't get you sake refills in Miami Beach.