Do you remember that Sesame Street bit with four kids in the corners of the screen, each doing their own thing? Mitchell Chonin is that kid—forever dancing to his own beat. Street performer by night, regular Joe by day... except, scratch that. There’s nothing “regular” about Mitchell Chonin.
For the last 19 years (and counting), anyone who’s spent time on Lincoln Road knows him. Disco Mitch. Disco Fox. Seventies King of South Beach. Retro Queen. The list of nicknames is as long as his platform shoes are tall.
If the name doesn’t ring a bell, the look and energy will. Piercing blue eyes, wild sandy-brown Einstein hair (thinning on top, fabulous everywhere else), twirling and grooving under the lights with an ever-present silver boombox blasting forgotten gems: Love Boat Theme, Night Fever, pure 70s crackle. When the B-side ends, he reaches into the hip pouch strapped around his waist, grabs the next cassette, and keeps the party going. Always in a skirt. Always in platforms. This is Disco Mitch.
“But you can call me Bobby Jo if you want, Scott.”Why Bobby Jo?“It’s got that 60s fling to it. Kind of a Motown-Diana-Ross-Supremes vibe. Sort of a Spanish-and-Black name.”
And just like The Carpenters said: we’ve only just begun…
Who is the man behind the platforms? Born in 1960 to a family with one brother and one sister (both still in South Florida), Mitchell grew up in Hialeah. Straight-A student, valedictorian, and—according to him—Hialeah Prom Queen 1975/76. He moved to South Beach in 1988 and settled on Drexel Avenue, where he’s been ever since. “’88 was more sassy and classy. Then renovation took over.”
Mitchell is a true local—with a capital L and a whole lot to say.
I should’ve known our Starbucks chat on Pennsylvania and Lincoln in December would be an experience. A week earlier I’d given him my cell to set a time. He filled my voicemail single-handedly—one day leaving four back-to-back messages, each cut off at the max time limit, picking up exactly where the last one left off. Mitchell is a talker.
He promised it’d be “easy as putting on glass slippers. Easy as 1-2-3.” And it was—because I barely got a word in. Not that I minded. He’s non-stop enthusiasm, overflowing character, and if you’re ever starving for conversation, Mitchell’s your guy.
“Do you know if it’s gonna be cold on the 24th?” he asks as we sit.No, I don’t.“The freaking weather changes. Now you’ve got Olga out there passing, gonna give us a sassy weekend. Probably a little rain. I’ll still go out anyway. But it’ll be a washout. Stop and go, hide under restaurant covers. Who would think tropical storm Olga would be out there in Puerto Rico? Makes your mind go Twilight Zone!”
Yes. No. Wait, what? I can barely keep up.
He’s all over the map—frenetic, face as animated as his words. Weather, politics, the elderly, the fabulous music of the 50s/60s/70s—he’ll talk about anything. And he’s on—warm, vibrant, mile-a-minute “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough.” Just like when he transforms into the larger-than-life cross-dressing ballerina for the Lincoln Road crowds, whether it’s one person or fifty staring curiously.
When we meet, he’s in a blue-and-orange blouse with a red-and-yellow flowered skirt. Purplish leopard-print platforms cover mismatched white-and-gray socks. Pink plastic bracelets, Mardi Gras beads dangling loosely. Unmistakable.
What inspires the style? “I love skirts… certain women’s clothes. If the skirt fits, wear it! When I’m dancing to Jerry Lee Lewis or La Bamba, I want the skirt and the incomprehensible music together… I put it together… my genius. I want the music to correlate with the fashion.”
Rumor had it that South Beach’s old “Fashion Police” once ticketed him. Truth? “They did write me a ticket, Scott. And do you know what it said? ‘You look absolutely fabulous!’” (Most of his wardrobe comes from Pop on Washington Avenue or St. Stephens in Coconut Grove—perfect for retro looks.)
But it’s the music that defines him. “My life is the 50s, 60s, and 70s; that’s my heart. My brain is in 2007. My mind, work, passion, art, and energy is for the 50s, 60s, and 70s.” He’s the walking Encyclopedia Britannica for those decades.
“Part of my job is stumping people. If somebody’s walking by fast, I give them trivia. And if they don’t want either, ‘Hit the road, Jack,’” he says, thumb pointing outward. Trivia nobody knows? In Saturday Night Fever, who performed “More Than a Woman” besides the Bee Gees? (Answer at the end.)
Performing on Lincoln hasn’t always been smooth. Five city ordinances since 1988 mean he now enters a lottery every three months for a permit. “This is the paper that’ll give you the permit,” he says, showing a well-folded, corner-scrawled application. Still, some nights (like New Year’s Eve) Lincoln is off-limits.
Mitchell’s seen the world but always returns. “Miami Beach back in the 60s and 70s… people didn’t come to live here, they came to die here.” Not anymore. And not with Mitch around to entertain the night crowd.
He performs in the Gables sometimes, but South Beach’s energy suits him best. “You’ve got normal people, you’ve got looney tunes—but that’s everywhere.” He’s lived in LA, New York, the Midwest (sometimes performing, sometimes with dietitian conventions—more on that shortly). He was even a regular on Soul Train in Philadelphia back in the 70s.
Faith is central. “Religion is a lifetime journey. I believe what I believe.” He attended Catholic church as a kid, sang in the choir, and still goes every Sunday. “By faith in Jehovah and Jesus, financial blessings will come… He’s never early or late, but He’s on time. He hasn’t come yet, though. At least to pay the debts off.”
He’s charitable too—donating to Sudan, Katrina relief, Salvation Army, McDonald’s 99-cent charities. “It’s what God put us on this earth for: to help other people.”
He’s also a registered dietitian, visiting nursing homes like Mt. Sinai to counsel the elderly on nutrition: good fats, bad fats, blood pressure, diabetes, heredity. For 30 years he’s kept off 30 pounds thanks to Weight Watchers. (He warns the old Publix scale is off by a pound—“subtract one when you weigh there.”)
Where does it all lead? “Do I have a good voice? I believe so. Am I American Idol material? I’m 65% yes, 35% no. It’s a different talent. It’s like putting a 250-pound woman in a size 5 dress!”
American Idol is the dream. Or Deal or No Deal. Or a low-budget film. “But Lincoln Road is solid. I don’t have the body for a South Beach model. I’d have to lose like 10 pounds… But Lincoln is the spot; this is where the exposure is.”
He’d cash out at $70K on Deal or No Deal—“Pay off some credit card debt, buy more platform shoes.”
Mitchell’s a character. An hour with him flies by. He’s one of a thousand faces on Lincoln, yet utterly one of a kind—a staple. Dedicated to his art, an energetic advocate for the 50s/60s/70s. A friend once said: “The day Disco Fox leaves Lincoln, South Beach won’t be the same.” True. Those platform shoes would be impossible to fill.
Catch him most nights after 8 p.m. on Lincoln Road (not always Mondays/Tuesdays). Fridays and Saturdays are prime—he prefers the poodle skirt or bell skirt then, channeling Leslie Gore, Linda Scott, Patty Duke. He’s available for private parties (rates negotiable—contact info on his business card).
Trivia answer: Tavares performed “More Than a Woman” in Saturday Night Fever (besides the Bee Gees).
Mitchell Chonin remains a beloved Lincoln Road fixture and South Beach icon. Now in his mid-60s, he’s still performing regularly—disco dancing in platforms, twirling skirts, and blasting 50s/60s/70s classics from his boombox for tips and smiles. He’s active on social media (@discomitch or similar handles on Instagram/Facebook), sharing clips, photos, and updates on his shows.
He continues private events, occasional TV/film cameos, and stays connected to Miami’s cultural scene. His dietitian work has tapered, but his passion for the city, music, and entertaining crowds hasn’t. Lincoln Road wouldn’t be the same without him—and thankfully, he’s still out there, keeping the retro spirit alive one twirl at a time. If you’re in South Beach, look for the platforms and the boombox—you can’t miss him!
Editor’s Note: Originally published January 21, 2008. Updated in 2026, while preserving Scott Alexander's experience living in Miami.
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