In the slushy mush of winter, when black ice melts into mud-grey sludge, one can’t help but dream of fantastical escape. We dream of white sand beaches instead of snowy commutes, of far-flung holidays instead of drearily cold doldrums. We move forward toward the mirage, imagining sand between our toes, feeling the sun sizzling our skin.
To my own imagination, one of the most indelible images of resort romanticism is that of Grace Kelly wearing red lipstick and a white bikini, cross-legged and bare-footed on a sandy red and white striped beach towel. Effortless, iconic, carefree. It’s a reverie I’ll readily trade with reality this time of year.