Welcome, Parrot Heads. Now take the lanyards off.

We get it. You're part of a large group of Jimmy Buffett fans. But is it against the Parrot Head bylaws to be seen without those obnoxious passes hanging from your neck and dangling in front of a T-shirt that says, "It's 5 o'clock somewhere"?

Can't those things be worn under the shirt while you're away from the Casa Marina headquarters and simply wandering Duval Street? Or, better yet, store them in a purse, backpack or one of those Corona boxes that some of you insist on wearing as a hat. Don't worry, we know who you are, and we'll probably crack a knowing smile every time you work a Buffett lyric into conversation.

Really? You were the woman going crazy on Caroline Street last night? And, yes, you're allowed to have a margarita at 11 a.m., because, after all, it is 5 o'clock somewhere, and you really did need a change in latitude.

But don't get me wrong, we're glad you're here. I've heard reports from several bartenders that you are doing your part to assist our local economy.

And the Parrot Heads do it with a smile. A few of us were talking about you Friday night at a friend's house. And we decided that of all the groups that come to our fair island city for various events throughout the year, the Parrot Heads are the happiest to be here.

It's nice to see people who are so genuinely excited by their vacation, destination and overall experience. They can't get enough of Key West, and it serves as a reminder to those of us who live here and may get a little jaded at times.

I have to admit, and my co-workers will verify this, I was disgusted with the Fantasy Fest crowd this year. Come on, folks, oral sex in the middle of Greene Street?

In case any of you missed that, a couple from "Colonial Williamsburg," of all places, was arrested for it in the middle of the week.

I'm no prude, but reading that police report nearly caused me to stay indoors Friday and Saturday night.

A little online stalking revealed the woman's Facebook page, and I was tempted to paste their arrest report for all her friends to see what a piece of trash she and her husband are. But I resisted the nasty urge.

I'm quite certain their behavior would not have been tolerated on the streets of Williamsburg, where people churn butter and dress in period costumes. And I'm glad our police didn't tolerate it.

Fortunately, the Parrot Heads have put a fresh face on this island and, so far, no sex offenses. Thank you for that.

Now we just have to work on your wardrobe. Just so you know, every time I've seen Mr. Buffett in this town, he's been wearing shorts, a faded T-shirt, ball cap and sneakers or flip-flops. Nothing with Hawaiian prints, no straw hats and never, ever a Corona -- or Landshark -- box on his head.

To be fair, the Parrot Heads are not the only visitors identified by their clothing (and lanyard).

The powerboaters will be here next, and the bright, flowery prints will be replaced by bright blocks of red, black and yellow on usually collared shirts that bear the name of a racing team. The women will ditch the sleeves for tiny tank tops over bright bikinis.

January will be here before we know it, and the sailboat crowd will blow into town with their coveted red Mt. Gay baseball hats. These things are a bizarre status symbol in that world, and are as ubiquitous as the Parrot Head lanyard.

A discussion of visitor wardrobes wouldn't be complete without mention of the bikers who roar into town in September and March. Even when they're not straddling a deafening hunk of chrome, they're easily identifiable by the all-black wardrobe despite the blazing sun.

Their devotion to denim is another trademark. I swear I've seen men in jeans sitting around local hotel pools with a beer always nearby. Then again, I swear I also saw a Parrot Head wearing a lanyard in the pool at the Hyatt Windward Pointe the other day.

And let's not forget the fishermen who come in for the high-end sailfish and marlin tournaments. These guys are marked by their Guy Harvey T-shirts, Columbia fishing shirts with lots of pockets and expensive sunglasses with the accompanying facial tan lines.

Finally, before anyone starts condemning me as an elitist, jaded local, we have to consider our own questionable clothing. We're a bizarre bunch, without question.

And as soon as the mercury slips below 65 degrees, our wardrobes malfunction.

We have to dig out sweatshirts from our college days, find shoes other than sandals and look for pants that aren't linen, although most of us do have a favorite sweater or fleece. These become our uniform for the duration of the cold front, and the results are not always pretty.

If it's true that clothing makes the man (or woman), then we've got some problems.

This island, its residents and visitors, may not be red-carpet ready, but we are ready for everything else, and everyone is truly welcome. So, as the commercials for the Keys instruct, "Come as you are," and join us for a great time -- because in Key West, it's always 5 o'clock, and we've already changed our attitude.

mbolen@keysnews.com