Your choice of cocktail says something about you. A dry martini may suggest elegance and sophistication. A frozen fruit margarita implies something altogether more louche.
Margaritaville, Jimmy Buffett's classic tequila-sodden hymn to the 'frozen concoction that helps me hang on', captures the essence and attitude of the drink perfectly.
In the midst of a major binge, the accident-prone singer-narrator stumbles about, vainly trying to remember where his salt shaker is, and how exactly he acquired a tattoo he doesn't remember having inked.
'Wastin' away again in Margaritaville', goes the refrain. 'Some people claim that there's a woman to blame, but I know that it's nobody's fault.'
Margaritas are about reckless abandon and glorious irresponsibility. You do not drink them if you are planning to operate heavy machinery, and in Buffett's words, so long as 'there's booze in the blender' you probably do not worry that much about the finer points of how they are made.
That's not to say, of course, that there are not margarita purists - just as there are martini purists - with inflexible views on the subject.