Miami Vices

Do you remember the eighties?

I remember the eighties. Shoot, I became an adult during that legendary decade, and those years left quite an impression on me. 

Michael Milken invented the junk bond, epitomized personal greed, then went to jail. 

Swatch watches became a major fashion craze. 

The "Personal Computer,"as we so quaintly called it, became a standard feature in offices and homes.

 And Mr. Gorbachev did indeed tear down that wall. 

These were some weird times. 

But when I think about the mood and feel of the eighties, my memories boil down to a single red-hot vibe.

Miami Vice.

If you don't recall that artistic endeavor, or if perhaps you were a fetus or simply a wonderful idea waiting to happen during those years, let me catch you up.

Two stunningly beautiful undercover cops prowl the sunlit streets of Miami and solve drug crimes. Drawing on a bold new conceptualization of the tired old police procedural narrative, this TV series evoked emotion and aesthetic galore, bouncing to the beat of a contemporary soundtrack, featuring gorgeous Art Deco architecture, and making a bold fashion statement. Miami Vice was the MTV of crime dramas and rewrote the script on what makes for cool TV.

Slouching casually in his rumpled Armani jackets kitted out with a t-shirt and deconstructed linen pants, barefoot in his Italian loafers, and sporting the perfect amount of stubble beneath his shaggy blond mane and Ray-Bans, Don Johnson aka Sonny Crockett was, is, and forever shall be my icon of the 80s. And his pastel signature colors took his look from good to great. 

Here. I pinned some classic photos of Crockett and his partner, Rico Tubbs aka the equally dapper but less ostentatious Phillip Michael Thomas, so you can see for yourself.

And so it was that when I styled out my front dresser this week with a sweet mint-covered book that I found at the thrift store and a bunch of pale pink tulips, I realized I had channeled a very Miami Vice mood.

And after a few terrifying moments of shock and horror when I realized that this fantastical time of pastel prominence is now almost four decades in the rear view mirror, I became quite excited. 

Because even though I have zero desire to go back to the decade that gave us the Space Shuttle explosion and the early days of the AIDS epidemic, I am more than happy to invite Sonny Crockett and his happy pastel Miami Vice mojo into my 2021 life.