H. wasn’t the first girlfriend I asked to take me to dinner at Tommy Bahama, but she was the first who said yes. From the street the restaurant looked like any storefront in downtown Palm Springs. Skinny fan palms framed a wide, curved patio. Droopy pink flowers baked in concrete pots. When H. asked where I wanted to sit, I pointed to the Marlin Bar. The high metal stool scraped the floor when I pushed it back. I plopped down with a satisfied sigh. The man next to me in a hibiscus shirt said, “Easy sitting, easy living.” I looked at H. and she looked at me, and we smiled at him. “I like easy,” I said. At least I thought I did.
Above the crack of cocktail shakers, Bing Crosby sang, “Where the palm trees sway.” I asked H., “Where?” She said, “Right here.” I looked around: the palm trees outside were, in fact, swaying. The flower in my piña colada shuddered every time the overhead vent blasted. I took a sip. The rum made the hairs on my arms stand up. I looked out past the palms to the packed patio where a banner read, “Paradise Is Open for Takeout.” I understood the patio’s pull. With 160 stores and 14 restaurants across the globe, Tommy owes his popularity to more than breathable fabrics and tender shrimp. Tommy promises easy pleasure and the thrill of escape without travel. Here paradise is a sand-colored screen where you can project whatever idea you have of the good life and see it reflected back at you. As Tommy knows, the richest of all pleasures are often the ones that exist, one-sided, in our minds.
On the stool I slurped down my drink, shoving the straw deep in the ice, searching for one last pocket of boozy cream. The room, with its smell of coconut, flooded me with memories of W. When we met she worked at a Tommy Bahama in the mall. A former Burner, she used her employee discount to swap her feathers and flares for a new look: hibiscus blouses and polarized shades. Whenever I saw a silk floral shirt I thought of her. Tommy’s Marlin Bar was full of silk shirts.
When H. asked if I wanted tacos or a bowl, I snapped out of my reverie. We had been dating long-distance for over a year, when, in the early months of the pandemic, I moved into her tiny home in Morongo, keeping my apartment in L.A. while we experimented with cohabitation. H. split her time between the desert and the city, remotely producing live streams of music performances for pop stars and dirt biking in her free time. On the weekends we often drove the 20 miles to Palm Springs for dates. I pushed the menu away. “Tacos,” I said. Though I knew it didn’t matter what I ate. My interest in Tommy Bahama was metaphysical. More than a place, Tommy Bahama was a portal to my own imagined paradise.
Buzzed from the rum, we wandered into the attached store behind the bar, weaving between racks of linen dresses and jute toes in earth tones. H. held a polo shirt to her chest and turned toward me. “Very cute,” I said. She smiled. “This old thing?” She leaned over to kiss me. After over a year together, her touch still gave me goosebumps. I strolled past more products: The Easy Breezer Long Sleeve Shirt. The Easy In Easy Out Chair. The Easy Zip Cardigan, which came only in black or white, eliminating the burden of choosing a color.
H. wasn’t the first girlfriend I asked to take me to dinner at Tommy Bahama, but she was the first who said yes. From the street the restaurant looked like any storefront in downtown Palm Springs. Skinny fan palms framed a wide, curved patio. Droopy pink flowers baked in concrete pots. When H. asked where I wanted to sit, I pointed to the Marlin Bar. The high metal stool scraped the floor when I pushed it back. I plopped down with a satisfied sigh. The man next to me in a hibiscus shirt said, “Easy sitting, easy living.” I looked at H. and she looked at me, and we smiled at him. “I like easy,” I said. At least I thought I did.Above the crack of cocktail shakers, Bing Crosby sang, “Where the palm trees sway.” I asked H., “Where?” She said, “Right here.” I looked around: the palm trees outside were, in fact, swaying. The flower in my piña colada shuddered every time the overhead vent blasted. I took a sip. The rum made the hairs on my arms stand up. I looked out past the palms to the packed patio where a banner read, “Paradise Is Open for Takeout.” I understood the patio’s pull. With 160 stores and 14 restaurants across the globe, Tommy owes his popularity to more than breathable fabrics and tender shrimp. Tommy promises easy pleasure and the thrill of escape without travel. Here paradise is a sand-colored screen where you can project whatever idea you have of the good life and see it reflected back at you. As Tommy knows, the richest of all pleasures are often the ones that exist, one-sided, in our minds.On the stool I slurped down my drink, shoving the straw deep in the ice, searching for one last pocket of boozy cream. The room, with its smell of coconut, flooded me with memories of W. When we met she worked at a Tommy Bahama in the mall. A former Burner, she used her employee discount to swap her feathers and flares for a new look: hibiscus blouses and polarized shades. Whenever I saw a silk floral shirt I thought of her. Tommy’s Marlin Bar was full of silk shirts.When H. asked if I wanted tacos or a bowl, I snapped out of my reverie. We had been dating long-distance for over a year, when, in the early months of the pandemic, I moved into her tiny home in Morongo, keeping my apartment in L.A. while we experimented with cohabitation. H. split her time between the desert and the city, remotely producing live streams of music performances for pop stars and dirt biking in her free time. On the weekends we often drove the 20 miles to Palm Springs for dates. I pushed the menu away. “Tacos,” I said. Though I knew it didn’t matter what I ate. My interest in Tommy Bahama was metaphysical. More than a place, Tommy Bahama was a portal to my own imagined paradise.Buzzed from the rum, we wandered into the attached store behind the bar, weaving between racks of linen dresses and jute toes in earth tones. H. held a polo shirt to her chest and turned toward me. “Very cute,” I said. She smiled. “This old thing?” She leaned over to kiss me. After over a year together, her touch still gave me goosebumps. I strolled past more products: The Easy Breezer Long Sleeve Shirt. The Easy In Easy Out Chair. The Easy Zip Cardigan, which came only in black or white, eliminating the burden of choosing a color.