At the active-living community for Jimmy Buffett enthusiasts, it’s five o’clock everywhere. Illustration by Nada Hayek Jimmy Buffett’s wry, tuneful hit “Margaritaville,” from 1977, ends on a lightly melancholic note, with the singer admitting, of his exile in tropical solitude, “It’s my own damn fault.” But when it comes to the song’s namesake life-style brand—restaurants, booze, endless merchandise, an announced cruise line, which in combination have earned Buffett a fortune—the mantra has been flattened out to something more like “no regrets.” That’s exactly the carefree ethos that Nick Paumgarten finds when he visits the Latitude Margaritaville retirement community in Daytona Beach, Florida. It’s souped-up golf carts, packed pickleball courts, Boomer garage bands, happy hour every hour—a manifestation of Buffett’s “celebration of leisure, transgression, and good humor.” One resident sums it up, saying, “If you can’t be happy here, you can’t be happy anywhere.” But, as Paumgarten pokes around, he sees that maybe it’s not all cheeseburgers in paradise: “Latitude Margaritaville came off both as an escape from America and as the most quintessentially American setting of all.” Like a good Jimmy Buffett song, the story is laid-back, openhearted, funny—and then, before it’s over, you realize that it’s more than a little sad, too. —Ian Crouch, newsletter editor |
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