Boob Mugs and Novelty Thongs: Kitschy Gifts from South Beach's Sleaziest Stores

Miami is geographically isolated from the rest of the nation, which has allowed it to organically sprout its own personal style. A style that is totally out of whack with good taste and the runways of New York, Milan, or Paris. So this holiday season, when contemplating what presents to buy for out-of-towners, head down to South Beach's cheesiest stores and score some sleazy kitsch as gifts. For under $20, you can purchase a unique treasure that will seem uber-exotic to those outside of the 305. Go ahead, share Miami's magical neon flare as well as its boob and butt fetishes with the rest of the world.

For wiggers and lame pseudo-hipster slime: Say goodbye to

tradition by discarding the map of Florida tee and replacing it with the

"I'm in Miami Bitch" shirt. A new classic, the term was made popular by

a Kardashian theme song by LMFAO. It both questions good taste and

grammar. Is it a play on "I'm in Miami Beach"? Or is it simply missing a

comma? Either way, the bold colors and profanity stand out and proudly

announce that you or someone you know was just in town and has no eye for fashion.

For the classless chick: Like your cousin that goes to school in Tallahassee and wears FSU splayed across her ass when she works out at the gym, there's these teeny South Beach rhinestone shorts. These little, sparkly guys really say, "I'm available." They coax the eyes from the breasts to the bottom with their shimmery boldness. Pretty sure that if South Beach were a person, it'd be proud to be on that slutty behind. And does it really matter what it spells? It's more about placing sparkles on your ass.

For the old spinster with a sense of humor or the family tanorexic: Allow us to present the tan line boob mug. Everybody knows someone who is, if not yet leathery, on the road to having snake skin. This person believes that a tan will hide the extra ten pounds they packed on over the Thanksgiving holiday and the hideous spider veins screaming from their thighs. This misguided friend deserves a present that reflects their sensibilities. If they enjoy a good joke, these partially tanned mugs of jugs will surely stand out under the tree. 

For the date-rapey frat guy: Quickie mart all out of Four Loko? Then there's this Little Sipper mug. Shaped like a boob, the Little Sipper is truly the more tasteless cousin of the tan line boob mug. The mug is itself a breast, and the nipple area offers a hole from which one can drink jungle juice in preparation of a gang bang. Is it possible to blame a mug for everything wrong with this world? If so, this is the one. Shut it down, America.

For the kid brother or serial killer in training: There's the baby alligator head taxidermy. Those buggers' giant reptilian heads haunt children's dreams at night. It encourages the notion that at any moment, one of the lizardy bastards might smash through the jalousie windows and take off a finger or head. This is South Florida, it could happen. These corpses just scream "Merry Christmas!"

Lastly, for the desperate, Girls Gone Wild slutbag: For those who prefers using the shorthand u to you, there are these foul-mouthed thongs. Perfect to wear under the bedazzled SoBe coochie cutters. The gruesome panties declare, "all you can eat" and "fuck me like umean it," carelessly missing a space after the "U." Who needs spaces when the man can barely read? Yes, people come to Miami to bone and apparently to be totally gross. 

We hope this guide gave you an idea of what quality holiday presents are available right across the street from your front door. By New Year's Eve, all of your friends and family will look like tropical natives, sipping coffee from titty cups and with nasty words written across their privates. Have yourself a crazy South Beach Christmas!

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Liz Tracy has written for publications such as the New York Times, the Atlantic, Refinery29, W, Glamour, and, of course, Miami New Times. She was New Times Broward-Palm Beach's music editor for three years. Now she plays one mean monster with her 2-year-old son and obsessively watches British mysteries.
Contact: Liz Tracy