Molly Bloom knows style

Earlier this week I went to a wedding in Las Vegas. I packed two dresses, sequined espadrilles, a swimsuit and a parasol — all you need, really. I spent my days floating in the lazy river at the Monte Carlo and my nights at swanky lounges. I ordered room service and rode the deliciously air-conditioned Monorail. I saw the Sea Horse Lounge and Forty-Deuce Burlesque. I had a fine time.



In Caesar’s Palace I won playing the quarter slots. I cashed out pronto and headed down to the Forum Shops where I purchased a polka-dot shirt dress at Bebe with my winnings. Eating at Emeril’s I pondered the expense account of a well-dressed woman holding court at a business luncheon two tables down. Then I went ahead and ordered the lobster bisque with my entree and appetizer, Size 4 be damned.



Vegas glitz shined in all its form. There was Grandma Glam, with the zip-front silk jackets in leopard and zebra prints (see above); Stripper Glam, with the impossible acrylic shoes and thin thighs and big hair; Cocktailer Glam, with the sportcoats and short skirts and support hose; and Middle America Glam, with the sparkly halter-back tent tops and tight jeans and French pedicures poking out of strappy slides. There was a lot of glitter going on and amen for it.

I can’t bring myself to take mean-spirited photos of real-live people. If I could, there would be shots of people wearing swimsuits in the lobby of my hotel, too-small stretchy knit tops on otherwise attractive women and cheap plastic flipflops everywhere. I saw more unpedicured and sunburned and downright terrifying feet this weekend. Two dollar shoes aren’t walk-around-town shoes. Please stop taunting me, you’re making my feet hurt.

My nods for most stylish hotels/casinos: TheHotel at Mandalay Bay, MGM Grand and Caesar’s Palace. Somehow the sound-level in the casinos is turned down compared to the louder-than-bombs game rooms in other joints.