Life in the islands is not without its perks. One of the main ones, I’ve found, is the casual lack of primping standards we hold ourselves to down here. I generally make a modest effort to look presentable most of the time, but “presentable” in the islands is often a far cry from anything I’d try and get away with elsewhere. Here are some of my favorite real world fashion offenses and how we blatantly disregard them while rock-side:




coffee stain shirt


The tropics are hard on your clothes. Store things in a dark closet in this humidity and you’re almost guaranteed they will rapidly disintegrate due to mold. My favorite BCBG peep-toed pumps crumbled in my hands when I went to pack them last Fall – I am only slightly ashamed to admit that I cried. On the flip side, should you decide to keep your garments out in the open, the obscene sunshine will fade them faster than you can say, “This used to be neon.”

Between the mold, the bleaching sun, and the unrelenting year-round wear and tear, it is inevitable that your wardrobe eventually succumbs to a slow death of holes, stains, and missing accoutrements. And because you can’t just run out to the mall and buy replacement outfits every time you discover a flaw, it’s sometimes hard to discard your favorite pieces due to one (okay, two or three…) little (sometimes medium-sized) hole(s).

The key to getting away with continuing to wear your now-defective duds is to perfect your shocked/embarrassed face. In the event that some well-intentioned person decides to inform you that the dress you’re wearing has A) a missing button on the back, B) a big hole near your crotch, and/or (likely and )  C) a grease stain on your boob, look at the blemish(es) as though you’re seeing it for the first time, aghast, and say the following: “Oh my gosh, how mortifying! I must throw this dress away when I get home! What a bummer!”

Do not throw your dress away – that was just crazy talk. Make a mental note of the person/situation and do your best not to wear it again in their presence. If you do by mistake (happens to the best of us), just add a tad more shame to your spiel and claim early onset Alzheimer’s.




wet hair


If you live in a city and head out into the world with wet hair, you may as well be wearing a nametag that reads – Hello, My Name Is: Ms. Lazy Pants. But when you’re on a rock, wet hair will more likely be interpreted as sporty, as though you’ve just hopped out of the ocean, fresh from a swim. Not to mention, electricity costs a small fortune so there is not a soul on this rock who will question your decision to be “eco” and forgo the hairdryer. Time saved: 30 minutes. Thank you, Island.




flip flop collection


I used to adore wearing high-heeled shoes. Between the boost to my meager height, the corresponding slimming effects, and the melodious clack clack clack sounds they made everywhere I walked, I never dreamed I’d abandon my obsession with the pump, the platform, and the wondrous wedge. But these days, my high heel to flip flop ratio has flipped heavily in the direction of the flop.

I could blame the fact that I have to take a boat everywhere I go and the overall slipperiness of this mode of transport. I could blame the fact that heels sink in the sand. I could even blame the wily docks that trap your stilettos between their planks unexpectedly, taking you down faster (and much less gracefully, I might add) than Bambi’s ill-fated mother. But the fact of the matter is, I don’t miss bending my feet everyday like a contortionist in the slightest of ways. Yes, there are plenty of instances where a flip flop is not the most stylish choice to accompany my outfit and a slight heel would definitely be more flattering to my Shorty McShorterson frame, but the beauty is, everyone’s wearing flip flops down here. Besides, only women in swimsuit catalogs wear heels on the beach. That’s why their faces look so pained in the pictures. Everyone knows that.




beach bag purse


I remember the years when I used to change my purse each day to match my pumps. Now just thinking about all the constant switching makes me exhausted. I still possess a few handbags and clutches to suit specific occasions but when it all comes down to it, I LOVE that it’s socially acceptable to tote around a beach bag in place of a purse. There’s nothing quite like the joy of knowing you have all the space in the world in your veritable picnic basket to bring along whatever your fluttery heart desires. There’s none of that absurd debating about what you really “need.” Prepare for every contingency! Pack a racket, a jacket, even your green tea packets! Clothes for rain or shine, don’t forget that bottle of wine!




bikini top bra kardashian


So much of summertime clothing is small and strappy, which wins practicality points for keeping you cool(er) in the heat, but is a far cry from sensible when it comes to bras. When going about my everyday existence, I enjoy the support that a traditional bra with straps provides. But what to do when your itty-bitty crop top demands a strapless bra? Do you suffer all day and bark at people grouchily due to the frustrating lack of boob reinforcement you’re enduring? No, sweet girl, you are in the islands. Do a dance and celebrate because this is when it is a true boon to always be within minutes of the ocean. Simply toss on a bikini top and let the world see your straps. You could be on your way to/from the beach for all they know. I’ll even admit to sometimes wearing my swimsuits as bras for no other reason than they match my outfit and add a touch of whimsical flair. It’s OK, we’re in the Caribbean!




pedicure sand


Pretty pedis on an island are the ultimate Catch 22: you want to have cute toes for your beach blanket escapades but the actual sand on the beach ravages your polish. Nothing chips and dulls your shellac’s shine like digging your toes into a bed of sandpaper. This translates to an unnaturally shortened lifespan for your pedicures. You’d think that would mean you’d pay extra attention to your feet but it actually ends up being the opposite. There are no valid excuses for this; it’s just another example of life on a rock’s lowered standards of primping. The nice thing is that few notice, even fewer care. Just get to it when you get to it. There’s always tomorrow…

Written By:

Current Rock of Residence:

Virgin Gorda, BVI

Island Girl Since:


Originally Hails From:


Chrissann’s home rock in the British Virgin Islands feels bigger to her than it actually is. Though after spending five years on a teensy one acre island, the current 13-mile long rock she’s residing on now IS ginormous, at least by comparison. As with everything in the tropics, it’s all about perspective.

Once upon a time she used to care about things like matching her purse to her pumps but these days, any activities that require a bra and shoes go under careful, is-this-even-worth-it consideration. If island life has taught her anything at all, it’s that few things are more rewarding than time spent in the pool with a cocktail in hand.

As the Editor in Chief of this site, she spends her days working from home with her blue-eyed sidekick, Island Dog Diego, writing, editing, and cultivating content in the hopes of bringing some laughter and lightness to her fellow island souls. She recently published her first children’s book, When You’re a Baby Who Lives on a Rock, and is pretty pumped to share it with all of the island mamas out there. Her days off are typically spent boating, hiking, and meeting up with the neighborhood’s imperious roadside goats, who she shamelessly bribes into friendship. While normalcy was never listed as one of her special skills, Caribbean life may indeed be responsible for new levels of madness. She attributes at least a smidge of her insanity to the amount of time she spends talking to drunk people.

If you’re somehow still reading this and feel inclined to find out more about this “Chrissann” of which we speak, you can also take a gander at her eponymous website or follow her daily escapades on Instagram @womanonarock.

Want to read more posts by this writer? Click here.

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