Dress to Dis

It's nearly 1:00 a.m., and the Sunday-night party at Pearl (1 Ocean Dr., Miami Beach) is only just beginning. Pretty young blond women escorted by older men in suits or white half-buttoned shirts line a wall fitted with a fish tanklike contraption filled with champagne, bubbles racing to the top in a dizzying, endless stream. The waitresses and bartenders wear orange custom-tailored flight attendant-style dresses featuring round peek-a-boo cut-outs showing lots of cleavage; the hems are just short enough that when they lean forward, butt cheeks show.

The more discriminating sister to the famous Nikki Beach downstairs, Pearl boasts a champagne bar that could break an average Joe in a single pop; its magnum bottle of Roederer Cristal carries a $3000 price tag. But then Joe Average is not a name you'll find on this restaurant/club's guest list. Try Paris, Madonna, or Naomi instead.

Working people do sneak in here. But — like the stars — they need to impress with their threads. Take Melissa, a petite South Beach resident in her midtwenties, who on this night sports a blue tank top with a skull-and-serpent print on the front and a pirate ship on the back.

"It's an Ed Hardy," she tells me. She says she bought it for $70.

Her jeans?

"Frankie B. About $250," she says. "They're the only jeans I buy, because they're the only ones that fit my butt, seeing as I don't have one." She does a little turn. Yep, it's flat.

"When it comes to clothing, I'll try anything," she says before running away with a gal pal.

Inside the main party room, a small runway becomes a stage for two club dancers, the most striking of the pair a tall, model-thin woman with jet-black hair, high-heel boots, and an ultrashort, tiny black flower print dress that reveals butt-squeezing panties, red garters, and matching fishnet stockings. The same runway is extended to host Friday-night fashion shows featuring local artists, says Jason Vernau, the blond, blue-eyed club fashion director.

José, a 23-year-old personal assistant and Delano (1685 Collins Ave., Miami Beach) employee, watches the antics, his back against the bar. He's wearing a shirt I recognize from many South Beach clothing stores as, yes, another Ed Hardy. The price?

"One forty," says the newly transplanted California native, his face turning a little green. It's ostensibly a plain T-shirt with an eagle and an American flag printed on the front. He says he feels pressure to buy higher-priced gear here. Miami style seems to be more "chic-y" than Los Angeles, he says — defining the word as "classy but refined" when I press him.

"I think it's more materialistic than back home," he says. "I see a lot of people in big labels. I would never pay so much money for clothes back home, but here it's like the fad."

I ask him to take a look around and point out anyone rocking a look that's just horrendous.

He leans back, ponders, and then answers, "I think everyone looks fine. Except that girl over there."

He points subtly to a long-haired brunet in an astoundingly short black dress, a low white belt, white shoes, and white hoop earrings. "That dress looks nasty. It's tacky, shows no class, and if I had a girlfriend and she went to a club like that, I would be done with her. Besides the fact that you can see all her freaking panties popping out everywhere."

He is not exaggerating. The dress looks like a high school wrestling uniform minus the crotch.

I ask what compelled her to put together this ensemble.

"Matching is my life," says Jessica, an FIU student. "Tonight it's all about black and white. I don't need labels. I wear whatever looks good, as long as it matches. I even have a white handbag tonight," she says, extracting it from under a table to show me. "The other key to my wardrobe is 'sexy.' My ass is just supposed to be showing. Sexy classy. Well, classy minus the ass-showing part."

Outside on the back patio, one man stands out from the rest. He looks like a cross between P. Diddy and an astronaut, in a bright white jacket, silver cargo pants, sunglasses, and silver Chuck Taylor high-tops. His name is Mario, he's 26, and he's an Italian visiting Miami for the first time.

"I dress as I feel," he says. "Every time different. I mix expensive with casual. This jacket is from a suit from Napoli. It costs together about 2000 American dollars. These," he continues, pointing to the pants, "just seventy. That's Italian style." When I ask him if he's worried about ruining his beautiful white jacket on the dance floor or in the bar, he says, "No. If gets dirty, I must clean."

Downstairs at the door, fashion director Jason has a few things to say about club trends. So what's hot right now, Jason?