It is Day 2 of Miami Fashion Week Swim, and Queety’s Outlander column has a rule when traveling: walk with purpose. If you’re going to pass through a doorway, walk in like you belong there. Sometimes you won’t be asked to leave, and you never know what might happen inside.
For instance, you could be walking down the street in Miami, and find yourself wandering into the Cabana Show, a trade show with aisle after aisle of swimwear worn by models standing around waiting to be adored. It is technically for retail buyers, but security was lax so it was easy to sneak in and chat up the boys.
Let’s meet a few of our favorites, starting with the large photo: Slovakian model Tomas has his trim waist wrapped in Parke & Ronen; in the red shorts is Damien, a cute little snack from Argentina, wearing Sundek; and Angelo, in the white shirt, is from the Dominican Republic, and he is wearing Orlebar Brown.
Mr. Cibrian was there to accompany his wife, the glorious chanteuse Leann Rimes, as she perused the racks of bikinis that will hit the market next season. Did we shake hands with Eddie? Yes. Did we make fools of ourselves babbling nonsense as he grinned with those dimples? Possibly. There is a certain allure to a young guy with perfect abs, but we happily admit a little grey scruff on a handsome man’s chin is sexy.
We were supposed to attend a fashion show at Casa Casuarina, a.k.a. the former Versace Mansion, but alas it did not feature menswear. There was the promise of seeing Versace’s famed swimming pool, as well as enjoying a free cocktail or two, so of course we went and pretended to be interested in the clothes. When the masses were allowed through the gates and directed to the patio for the show, we were strictly forbidden from going into the mansion. But here’s a tip: if you wait for the security guard to talk to a young woman on his left, you can slip through the door on the right and walk with a bit of confidence and zip! you’re inside without any notice.
Instead of a runway, the models were positioned around the pool like Grecian statues, posing and smizing up a fury. It was cute. Then the complimentary drinks ran dry, so we left.
Speaking of getting up close and personal: a few doors down from all the fashion fun at the old Versace mansion, we walked past The Palace, a little streetside bar with drag shows on weekends. Hosted by the one and only Miss Tiffany Fantasia, serving beach fashion glamour realness—
—there is no stage at The Palace, so the queens strut up and down the sidewalks of Ocean Drive and terrorize tourists passing by. As we walked by, we got very close to TLo Ivy: