I’ve never been to Nantucket, nor have I been to The Hamptons. When you’re from a picturesque vacation town, you don’t really need that type of escape. What I do know is that both locations value rosé, drinking next to large bodies of water, and a chillin’ the most lifestyle; all of which I can get behind.
Now that I’m living in Texas, I feel like I need to up my summer escape game and start planning for 2016 (and get away from being constantly sweaty/in search for a margarita). So what better way to figure out where I’ll be walking around with an open container than by using my new favorite pretentious Instagram account, Nantucket v. Hamptons, which pits staples of each coastal locale against one another in an all out WASPy splash fight.
If you’re trying to fuck with poodles, I don’t want you in my clique. Now, if we combined the two into a labradoodle, that’s something I can get behind, but that’s not an option here so I’m going retriever until the end of time. Point: Nantucket.
Old Will would be scoffing at the fact that I’d ever pass up a tasty pair of worn leather docksiders, but New Will has been loving the feeling of some bits on his feet once he gets on the dancefloor after a couple cocktails. Either way it’s #NoSocksTilSeptember, but this isn’t all that hard. Point: Hampies.
I don’t even know what the hell that lobster-jerking-off-looking thing on the bottom is, and I’ve wanted to live in a damn lighthouse since I was about the age of four (which, yes, I do now find kind of creepy of myself). Point: Nantucket.
Asking me to choose a pan-seared scallop versus a dozen oysters is like asking me to pick Kid Rock against Bob Seger. It’s just not a decision I’m willing to make. Point: Push.
“What would Ernest Hemingway do?” popped into my head immediately upon seeing this, and for good reason. Homie loved his vices. But given that he had a bachelor pad in the heart of Cuba and hipsters have taken over the 2015 pipe scene, there’s only one choice here. Point: Hamptons.
I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: I’ve been put off by heels ever since my ex-girlfriend slammed her face into the pavement after getting her heel stuck in a grate on our first date, so I’m hesitantly going with the basic-ass Jack Rogers sandals despite that fad being over in 2010. Yeah, I’m fashion forward, guys. Point: Nantucket.
Hold on, what? Blueberry vodka? Am I missing something here? Actually, don’t even explain it to me. It’s the second consecutive #SummerOfRosé and I’m fine with that because I’m a basic bitch. Point: Hamptons.
When it comes to Peej’s, I think of one thing: Jordan Spieth dominating on them. PJ all day. Point: Nantucket.
Ballers ride boats and peasants ride buses. I don’t even care if the bus is that cool-ass bus that P.O.D. taped the “Rock The Party” music video in, no one turns down ferries if they’re given the choice. Point: Nantucket.
The last time I ate a donut, I found myself sitting at my desk wondering if my button was going to fly off my shorts because of the storm it brewed up in my stomach. But toss some lox up on an everything bagel with some cream chee and capers? Game over, stop the fight, call an ambulance. Point: Hamptons.
I wouldn’t be where I am today if I was wallowing away below deck with some fuckin’ motion sickness. Anxiety meds? Sign. Me. Up. These Sunday Scaries aren’t going to tame themselves. Point: Hamptons.
My favorite seasons, in descending order: Spring, Winter, Fall, Summer, White Pants Season. Point: Hamptons.
I saw how much trouble G-Wagons got 50 Cent into, so I’m steering clear of those until further notice. Besides, I like to consider myself more of an understated dude anyway, so a vintage Land Rover defender seems much more up my alley. Plus, it’s a tad more inconspicuous when I’m rolling beachside with a wine-on-ice roadie. Point: Nantucket.
I may be basic but I’m not a fuckin’ Kardashian. Come on. Besides, do I have a LL Bean canvas tote that I bring to the beach right now anyway? Yeah, I do, and I’m not afraid to admit that. Point: Nantucket.
Okay, maybe I am that basic. Point: Hamptons.
Tied 7 to 7 (with one push because I refuse to pick oysters against scallops), Nantucket and The Hamptons are dead even in my book. So fuck it, looks like I’ll have to do both. .
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