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Ever since I was about 13, I've dreamed of my ideal life in my studio apartment in the LES. It would be petite and urban with exposed pipes and bricks. It would be on a floor with amazingly talented and cool artists who had gallery showings at local spots and made incense and designed cool tee shirts. Every night me and my awesomely cool friends would venture out on a safari through the city; looking for cool hangouts, vegan sushi, and parisian bistros with fair-trade ugandan brews.
Lately, I've noticed the spike of plasiticity in the city that I once lusted for. The cool bistros and bars have been replaced with Starbucks, Bloomingdales and Chipotles.My Favourite New Yorker, Vashtie, Lemented on this decline and said
"It wasn’t always this way and unfortunately enough – this is NOT the NEW YORK I (and many others) dreamed of. The New York where starving artists would flock, sell one painting and live happily for a month or so. Working a part-time, living in a rough part of Manhattan and spending the rest of your time partying and working on your craft."
This dream of New York...or illusion of New York has revealed itself to be nothing more than a mirage of my youthful dillusions. The lofty, easy going, cool, urban, artsy, free mirage has proved itself to be temporary for the dwindling of cool has ushered in a new sense of contrived mimicing. New York has done an about face. It's almost like NYC is playing itself in a production of "Empire State" or some kitchy title...
In reality, Very Few live the lives of Samantha, Carrie, Charlote and Miranda...and maybe even the life that I dreamed of is unattainable.
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