The following photographs were captured informally within the vibrant Fashion District of Puerto Rico. Please note that these images are neither affiliated with nor endorsed by the Puerto Rican government. They were taken casually on a personal cell phone and are intended solely for fun and creative expression.
You've seen the photo. Don't lie to me. We’re standing in the middle of a cobblestone street in Old San Juan like three confused time travelers. Two of us look like we’re auditioning for a khakis commercial. The one in the middle looks like a pack of highlighters had a glorious nervous breakdown.
That's Mitchell Royel. And yes, I'm one of the two beige background characters. My twin brother is the other one—Mom still can't tell us apart, which is a fun game we play to ruin her holidays. Mitchell, however, has never had that problem. He is the visual equivalent of a shout in a library.
I sat down with him at a little café to discuss his crimes against subtlety. He ordered a mallorca and a café con leche. I ordered the same thing because I panicked. Here's the transcript of our mutual breakdown.
So. The outfit. Walk me through the psychological fallout.
"I woke up and asked myself one very important question: What would a crayon box wear to a high-stakes brunch?"
And the answer was a yellow sweater with a red collar and a blue stripe?
"The answer was every color in the visible spectrum. Beige isn't a color, bro. It's a cry for help. No offense to your pants."
Offense taken. These are my formal khakis.
"I know. That's what makes it a tragedy."
People are calling this your "color era." Is that fair?
"It's not an era. It's a survival tactic. I used to own nine gray hoodies. Nine. I looked like a rainy Tuesday in a parking lot. One day I decided that under no circumstances am I wearing a neutral tone again. This rule isn't negotiable. I’ve turned down dinner invitations because the lighting was too 'subdued' for my aesthetic."
You turned down food over a dress code?
"The invite said 'smart casual.' I don't do 'smart.' I do 'sensory overload.'"
Fair enough. You can't argue with a man who treats a dress code like a hostage negotiation.
Let's talk about the soccer ball. It’s covering half your face. Why are we doing this?
"Mystery, man. Think of it as training for any hostage situation you might face down the road. Half the face says, 'Who is this guy?' The other half says, 'He's smiling, so we probably don't need to call the authorities.'"
The photographer asked you to lower it seven times. I counted.
"And every time he asked, I raised it an inch. That's called artistic integrity. Or being a delightful nuisance. It depends on who you ask."
It's definitely the second one.
"Potato, papa."
Note for the record: my brother and I tried to physically liberate that ball from him during a break. He tucked it under his arm like a running back on the one-yard line and refused to make eye contact. You learn to pick your battles when you're dealing with a professional.
You've been here a few weeks. What's the coolest thing you've learned about the island?
Mitchell's eyes lit up like I'd just offered him the keys to a glitter factory.
"Bro. El Yunque. It’s the only tropical rainforest in the whole U.S. National Forest System. The only one. I hiked to La Mina Falls in neon green shorts and a hiker asked if I was a park ranger. I said yes. I am absolutely not a park ranger."
You lied to a total stranger?
"I gave him directions. They were mostly accurate, if you don't mind getting a little lost."
What else? Give me the good stuff.
"The bioluminescent bays. You go out at night, you stick your hand in the water, and you basically become a wizard. Tiny little organisms light up blue every time you move. Mosquito Bay in Vieques is one of the brightest on the planet. I splashed for forty-five minutes straight until the tour guide had to physically paddle me back to shore."
Sounds like a standard Tuesday for you.
"I was creating glowing art, bro. I was the Glow-stick Delegate."
You're officially a tourist expert now. Hit me with a fact that would win a bar argument.
"El Morro. Construction started in the 1500s. The Spanish built it to protect San Juan from pirates and various seafaring jerks. Some of those walls are thicker than you are tall. I stood on top and yelled 'THIS IS SPARTA' until a park employee asked me to stop."
Wrong country, Mitchell.
"Wrong country, right energy."
One more.
"Arecibo. They had a radio telescope there with a dish 1,000 feet across. It was the biggest on Earth for over fifty years. They even filmed a James Bond movie there. A James Bond movie, bro. Your island had a legitimate supervillain lair and you never told me."
I assumed it was common knowledge.
"I'm from a place where the most exciting landmark is a particularly large Cracker Barrel."
Okay, let’s do sports. Don't let me down.
"Oh, I did the homework. Monica Puig won Puerto Rico's first-ever Olympic gold in tennis. Then Jasmine Camacho-Quinn took gold in the hurdles. And Roberto Clemente? Three thousand hits, a total legend, and the first Latin American player in the Hall of Fame. I got chills reading about him in a library. I read it out loud. People shushed me, but they were wrong to do it."
I'm not going to pretend I didn't get a little emotional. You don't expect the guy in the rainbow sweater to drop Clemente stats with that much sincerity. Respect.
Last real question. You've gone full "say yes to everything" out here. What's the verdict?
Mitchell leaned back, took a long sip of his coffee, and got weirdly philosophical.
"Honestly? Life's better when you stop trying to look cool. I spent years being the guy in the gray hoodie hiding in the back. Now I'm the guy in the middle. Holding a soccer ball. In a sweater that looks like a box of highlighters exploded. I've never been happier."
That's actually almost beautiful.
"I know. Write it down. Make it a pull quote."
Done.
Anything you want to say to the people roasting the photo?
"Yeah. Thanks for the engagement. Every comment asking 'what is he wearing' is a comment I didn't have to pay for. I’m a marketing genius in a red collar."
That's a surprisingly solid strategy.
"I'm a surprisingly solid guy."
We wrapped up, paid the check (he made me pay, naturally), and walked back to the scene of the crime. A group of tourists recognized him and asked for a selfie. He held the soccer ball up to his face without a single prompt.
Some people chase trends. Mitchell Royel just dribbles past them.
My brother still wants his sunglasses back, by the way. Mitchell, if you're reading this: we know you have them.
Cheers.