retro marine taxidermy jewelry and other losses
Tarzan, a.k.a. Mr. Weismuller, source: clivejames.com
Acapulco means different things for different people. For some, it means wet T-shirt contests, tequila utters hanging from nightclub ceilings and bungee-jumping on acid. For me, Acapulco has a long history of family get-togethers, sandy Christmases and secret romantic adventures.
Up until very recently, I also thought of Acapulco as possessing a charm all its own, safely tucked away in “old Acapulco”, an area of town that echoes the days of Diego Rivera, Johnny Weissmuller, Errol Flynn, Elvis Presley or even the more recent Bo Derek (never mind that the film 10 took place in Manzanillo). My Acapulco imaginary remained highlighted by sandy fashions such as crochet purses with seashell closures, crushed muslin baby-dolls with colored ribbons at the hem, coconut shell chimpanzees, in short: the gamut of emblematic souvenirs that only three plus margaritas or overenthusiastic tourism could move you to wear or purchase for you and yours.
Bo
Thus, with the sole aim of capturing some of that charm in images and uploading it onto GREEN EGGS for you to delight in, this summer I ventured -after at least ten years of absence- into downtown Acapulco. Convinced that, while other areas of town have been engulfed by Walmarts and burger restaurants there is no need to name and stupidly expensive coffee shops which also need no naming, old Acapulco would retain some sense of self and some retro marine taxidermy jewelry.
Oviedo Hotel. Acapulco, Guerrero
fondo casasola, INAH
The photographs would immediately go viral, they would be that good, and in my mind’s eye included sun-kissed three-to-five-year-olds with tightly braided hair and matching beaded fringe tops, or donning embroidered muslin dresses and mini crochet purses with seashell bouquets, little boys in straw hats and tiny guayaberas, and retro marine taxidermy jewelry.
I had planned to dive into the crafts market so often ignored in years past, and snap shots of cliff-diver-inspired T-shirts, miniature landscapes painted onto the concave underside of oyster shells, seashell-covered treasure chests, woven straw dolls, retro marine taxidermy jewelry.
It was all there, in my Acapulco imaginary. In the immortal words of John Belushi: But, NOOOO!
What does old Acapulco have to offer in 2015? Not much else than what is available at every and any other beach resort. Or not beach. Or not even resort, for that matter. Which is to say: marbleized Croc knock-offs, apocryphal batik sarongs, baseball caps with glittery slogans in misspelled English, oversized Dexter and Ben 10 T-shirts, temporary Dee Dee tattoos, canvas totes from Michel Kors, Caoch or Luis Vitton , and other Sino-Mexican originals.
Architecturally speaking, downtown Acapulco’s once lazy decadence, its retired-Hollywood-actor appeal has been taken over by a catalog of stunted public “rescue” projects and abandoned real estate ventures care of money-launderers both public and private. Of the main square’s mostly 1930s buildings, very little remains with the exception of its modest cathedral, barely visible yet still standing at the far end of the square, which in turn has been literally sliced down the middle by metal sheets and engulfed by the stands selling the afore-mentioned artifacts.
Why did this irk me so? Is it important? Am I the only one who will miss the seashell-covered boxes? The retro marine taxidermy jewelry?
If I am honest, I did spend the greater part of my life ignoring and -dare I say- even repudiating the Bo Derek braids, the cheaply-printed fringed T-shirts, the seashell mobiles. I don’t remember having ever purchased the stuff -not even for laughs, as mementos for foreign friends unfamiliar with the local kitsch. Why do I now resent Acapulco’s transformation into Anywhereland as exemplified by the transmutation of its souvenirs? Why am I bothered by its anointment into with the World-According-to-Walmart, its flattening under the weight of mass-produced, “democratizing” fashion as per Gilles Lipovetsky?
You know what they say about never knowing what you’ve got until etcetera. Yeah, well. That.
GREEN EGGS 