Dear New York, You’re So Cool. Until You Aren’t.

25 Mar Dear New York, You’re So Cool. Until You Aren’t.

I love this city, I hate it sometimes, too. In an effort to keep track of my feelings about the Big Apple during my time here I try my best to chronicle them in a letter to this crazy place. Welcome to Dear New York–a series posted monthly on the anniversary of the date I moved here. 

New Yorkers as a whole, I find are generally, not enthused about much. I think that’s the biggest giveaway that I haven’t lived here long. I’m usually very excited to meet new people and am not opposed to speaking to strangers. I don’t think we shouldn’t be able to say good morning if we are sitting next to each other on the train. We’re sharing space and air, disgustingly enough.

I was invited to a lunch for work. I was seated next to a designer who worked on a major fashion label. But the way she said what she did, was so, I don’t know, matter-of-fact. Maybe, this is what happens? Once things aren’t so new and shiny? You don’t get excited when you talk about things you’re passionate about? She, I imagine is living out her dream, and yet she couldn’t even crack a smile as she felt the words leaving her lips.

New Yorkers don’t get excited about celebrities. Or people who work at Vogue. Which are better than celebrities in my book, unless, they’re snotty. Then, a big ole boo to them. They don’t get excited to be at parties with bold names that you (maybe it’s just me?) read about in the papers or magazines. New York is just a huge pinch-me-is-this-really-happening-to-me-Lord experience and while my face hearts from smiling, real New Yorkers just stand there with the stank face. Like come harder, I don’t see you. They’re just so cool about everything.

Until they aren’t.

I’m not sure what it is about New Yorkers and their commute but it brings the crazy entirely out. I just watched this women wedge her body between the doors of the 6, they opened and closed on her three times.

Three. Times. 

When she was finally on, she made some comment about the conductor being crazy–he’s clearly the issue here, not you–and pulled on her jacket to smooth it. I’m struggling to stifle my laugh.

Like, ma’am. Where are you going you couldn’t wait the 6 mins for the next one? This isn’t a once and a blue moon thing, either. I’ve seen grown men literally run in front of cabs speeding at them, only to walk once their feet touch the sidewalk. What is that 3 seconds you would wait to safely cross the street doing for your commute? Please, tell me. I need to know.

New York, you’re worried about the wrong things and pick the wrong times to be cool, I’m telling you. It’s okay, we can work on that.

Enthused to be yours,