When I was 13, I sat with a bunch of other girls on a lounge chair at the pool while another girl, our ringleader, who filled out her bikini like she was 21, showed us from another chair how to lay out “right” so boys would notice.

On your back. One leg straight. One bent. Head up a bit. Back arched. Chest out.

She demonstrated. We emulated — a row of teenagers trying so hard to look cool, we probably looked like we were in pain, what with our pursed lips and frozen limbs.

Still, we knew it then — if you’re ever going to be a vamp, summer is your chance. You’re half naked already. You are, literally, hot and bothered. Perfect opportunity for a girl to go wild.

She taught me well. Nine summers later, I reached a vamp’s biggest milestone — the moment when you realize you know how to seduce a man. There was a night and Miller Lite and a fire escape. And I spent that July fancying myself his Jezebel, running around town in skirts too short to sit down in, moving my hand up his thigh while waiting in line for Rita’s, taking too long to lick the crystals off the spoon because there’s no such thing as a subtle vamp.

Unfortunately, being explicitly suggestive is tiring; many vamps lose their stride. Some subscribe to the notion that they should have, at some point, outgrown their vampage, and, so, start buying clothes at Talbots.

Last week I was at Bahama Breeze for a little noontime margarita and a chat with a friend. The bar was empty except for us and two women in their 50s, maybe. In our tank tops and jeans, my friend and I looked fucking demure next to these ladies. Skin. Spandex. Countless rhinestones.

Tampa is full of women dressed like this and it’s one of the reasons Tampa’s so great. Go out on Gasparilla and you’ll see more middle-aged women in slutty wench costumes than you will little boys with eye patches.

My usual response: What are you wearing? Where are you going? Who are you supposed to be?

This time around: Get it. You grow old with your inner ho.

I’m officially declaring Summer 2015 the Summer of the ReVamp. I don’t care if you followed Self Magazine’s Ten Steps to a Six Pack or if you’ve put on 25 pounds since Christmas. Wear what you want. Flirt when you want. Tease when you want.

There are a few requirements, like wearing cheap fabric and having no shame.

And there are rules.

One: No ReVamp at work.

Two: ReVamp doesn’t mean it’s time for you to go back to, or start going to, MacDinton’s.

Three: If you ReVamp, fucking ReVamp. A vamp never half-asses anything.

Remember DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince’s summertime anthem? School’s out and there’s sort of a buzz. Back then I didn’t really know what it was. It was the vamp at the pool, posing. 

This article appears in May 21-27, 2015.