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When my editor asked if I’d be willing to trade Manhattan’s grid for Miami’s glitter to cover the social evolution of South Florida, I barely paused. As a 27-year-old ex-volleyball player who’d grown tired of cold brew in overpriced walk-ups and dating apps filled with Peter Pan boys in vintage Carhartt, I said yes with the swiftness of a well-placed spike.
So I packed up my Lululemon, my Moleskine, and my favorite oversized sunglasses and moved to Brickell. Miami’s so-called “Manhattan of the South.” Which, frankly, is kind of the problem.
Brickell Is Trying Too Hard
Let me be clear—Brickell is shiny. Glossy. Gleaming with towers that look like they were imported from Dubai and filled with men who all work in “crypto... kinda.” The brunches are bottomless and the gyms are brutal. But here’s the thing: Brickell is trying way too hard to be Manhattan—and it shows. And not in a good way.
You didn’t move to Miami to feel like you’re still dodging Wall Street bros. You came for the vibe. The vibe lives across the causeway.
Miami Beach Is Paradise (Except Half the Hot Men Are Gay)
Once I started spending more time in Miami Beach, the shift hit. It’s where art deco meets EDM. Where the air smells like ambition, coconut oil, and something a little forbidden. Where bodies look like Greek statues and the beach is your backyard.
Let’s talk men for a second. Miami Beach men are objectively hotter. And more confident. But also—let’s be real—at least half of them are gay, which makes window shopping more fun than it is fruitful.
Still, the dynamic here is deliciously different. Age gaps are the norm. Not the exception. In fact, it’s more common to see a woman in her twenties with a man in his fifties than it is to see two age-matched millennials splitting a check. And honestly? I’m not mad about it.
The Sugar Daddy Scene Isn’t Just a Cliché. It’s a Culture
Let’s address the taboo with a tan: the sugar daddy scene in Miami isn’t underground. It’s not hidden in back rooms or masked in shame. It’s brunch reservations, luxury condos, and “dinner with potential.” It’s older men with presence—and younger women with standards. It’s not just transactional. It’s aspirational.
As for me? Sure, I pay my own bills. But I wouldn’t mind someone who helps out. Who offers support, not just Venmo. I believe in 50/50 relationships—but not just financially. Emotionally. Energetically. Strategically.
My Dream Job? His Personal Assistant. Seriously.
People raise their eyebrows when I say this, but my dream job would be to work as my man’s personal assistant. Like, really. I would organize his calendar, book his flights, iron his shirts, keep his life together. Think Elena Cardone meets Georgia Hassarati with a dash of Amal Clooney. If he’s the CEO, I want to be his CMO—Chief Muse Officer.
In this city, that’s not called being submissive. That’s called being smart.
So yes, I’m already planning to leave Brickell behind and move to Miami Beach full-time. I’ve traded high-rises for high tides. The skyline for the sand. And maybe—just maybe—I'll find someone 20 years older who knows exactly what he wants… and is looking for someone who knows how to give it.
