The New York Times laments the old dirty dangerous South Beach.
These days, it’s not just the models who have largely vanished — and with them the European playboys and nightlife fixers for whom they served as so much chum in the water. Clubland itself seems more predictable and strait-laced now that the Beach’s ever squabbling tribe of drag queens have packed up their wigs and gone. Even most of the con men and hustlers have lit out for greener (or less policed) pastures. Indeed, the late-night playground left behind has become a high-end tourist mecca in all its bland, well-oiled glory. Yet even more jarring are the newest daytime arrivals: children.
When I first started clubbing there in the late 80s, if you told friends you were going to South Beach, they’d ask, “Oh, is your grandmother sick?” Because otherwise, why? And my car got broken into so many times, they knew me at the glass shop.