Delaware's beach towns held a joint press conference Wednesday to formally acknowledge what everyone who's ever been to the Jersey Shore already knows: Delaware beaches are functionally identical to New Jersey beaches except with worse traffic, higher prices, and residents who are insufferably smug about living in Delaware.
"We've been selling ourselves as 'The Nation's Summer Capital' for decades," admitted Rehoboth Beach Mayor Stan Mills, standing on a beach that looks exactly like Ocean City, NJ. "But honestly? We're just Jersey beaches with tax-free shopping and more pretentious restaurant names. The sand is the same. The water is the same polluted Atlantic. The traffic is somehow worse. But we don't have a sales tax, so people convince themselves we're better."
The admission comes after years of Delaware beach towns marketing themselves as somehow superior to New Jersey beaches despite offering essentially the same experience: overcrowded beaches, overpriced everything, insufferable summer traffic, and the distinct aroma of fried food mixed with sunscreen and regret.
Rehoboth Beach, which has successfully marketed itself as a "upscale" beach destination, is particularly guilty of pretension. The town features the same novelty t-shirt shops, fudge stores, and overpriced restaurants as every Jersey Shore town, but charges 40% more and acts like it's the Hamptons.
"We have Dogfish Head," explained local business owner Patricia Morrison, as if one brewery justifies the entire town's superiority complex. "And tax-free shopping. And... well, that's basically it. Our beaches are identical to Wildwood's. Our boardwalk is smaller and less interesting. Our parking costs more. But we're in Delaware, so somehow we're fancier. It's brilliant marketing, really. We've convinced people that paying more for the same thing makes them sophisticated."
Dewey Beach, which markets itself as the "fun" beach town, admitted its entire identity is built on having more bars per capita than any other town in America, which is less a unique selling point and more a public health concern.
"We're where people come to get drunk and make terrible decisions," acknowledged Dewey Beach Town Manager Michael Chen. "That's our brand. Come to Dewey, get alcohol poisoning, regret everything, go home. Repeat next summer. It's not sophisticated or family-friendly or unique—it's just concentrated day-drinking marketed as a lifestyle. But tax-free alcohol! So we're better than Seaside Heights, apparently."
Bethany Beach, which bills itself as the "Quiet Resort," admitted it's quiet primarily because nothing interesting happens there and most visitors are retirees who go to bed at 7pm.
"We're the beach town for people who find Rehoboth too exciting," explained Bethany spokesperson Jennifer Parks. "Our main attraction is the lack of attractions. We have a beach, some expensive houses, and a profound sense of boredom. But we're quiet! And tax-free! So families pay $5,000 a week to rent a house here and spend the entire vacation driving to Rehoboth because Bethany has nothing to do."
The Delaware beaches' main competitive advantage—the lack of sales tax—turns out to be largely illusory when accounting for higher base prices, outrageous parking fees, and the fact that New Jersey has similar pricing when you include all costs.
"People think they're saving money by shopping in Rehoboth," explained retail analyst Dr. Sarah Torres. "But stores price everything higher because they know tourists believe they're getting a deal. A t-shirt that costs $25 in New Jersey costs $30 in Rehoboth, but tourists think they're saving money because there's no sales tax. It's a psychological scam. Add in $40 parking for the day and you've spent more than you would have in Wildwood."
The traffic situation is perhaps Delaware beaches' most honest feature: it's absolutely, inexcusably terrible and everyone acknowledges it. Route 1 from Wilmington to Rehoboth—approximately 95 miles—routinely takes 4-5 hours on summer weekends, transforming a pleasant beach trip into a dystopian nightmare of sitting in a hot car surrounded by Pennsylvania drivers who apparently learned to drive from watching demolition derby.
"The traffic is our truest expression of what we are," admitted Delaware Department of Transportation spokesperson David Park. "A fundamentally broken system that everyone uses anyway because the alternatives are worse. It's very on-brand for Delaware. We've had fifty years to fix it, we've done nothing, and people keep coming anyway because where else are they going to go? Jersey?"
Delaware beach towns have also perfected the art of seasonal price gouging. A beach house that rents for $1,200 weekly in the off-season costs $6,000 weekly in July—despite being the exact same house with the exact same amenities, just with more crowds and worse traffic.
"We've weaponized supply and demand," explained vacation rental owner Michael Rodriguez. "I can charge whatever I want in summer because people are desperate for beach access and there's limited supply. Is it ethical? Absolutely not. Is it legal? Unfortunately yes. Do I lose sleep over charging a family $7,000 for a week in a house that needs renovation? Not even a little. That's capitalism, baby."
The most honest admission came from Dewey Beach, which acknowledged that its entire economy is built on serving alcohol to people who are already too drunk to make good decisions.
"We have 26 bars in a town of 341 permanent residents," noted Chen. "That's one bar for every 13 people. We're not a beach town, we're an open-air bar district that happens to be near the ocean. People don't come here for the beach—they come here to black out on a Monday afternoon and maybe swim if they're sober enough to not drown. It's not a good look, but it's honest."
As of press time, Delaware beach towns were unveiling new marketing slogans that reflect their newfound honesty: "Rehoboth Beach: It's Like Wildwood But You'll Pay More," "Dewey Beach: Cirrhosis by the Sea," and "Bethany Beach: Nothing Happens Here and That's The Point."
When asked whether acknowledging their mediocrity might hurt tourism, Mills seemed unconcerned. "Where else are DC and Philly people going to go? Jersey? Maryland? Please. We're the least bad option within driving distance. That's not a great slogan, but it's true. We'll be fine."