Table of Contents
Hi friends!
Another late night writing. This took me an eternity to write because of all the tangents I started down. I need a real chance to reset, and I’ll get that for the next two weeks as I fly to Pittsburgh tomorrow.
Pretty Brooklyn
I spent over half of my week in Pretty Brooklyn, a name I made up to describe the neighborhoods lining the north and west of Prospect Park. The beautiful brownstones, sophisticated restaurants, and plethora of strollers in Pretty Brooklyn oppose the industrial, chaotic, and countercultural stylings of Bushwick. Although these picturesque neighborhoods are semi-easily accessible by train, I stay primarily in my neighborhood.
I love living in Bushwick, but like other leeches, I know this is a season of my life. As I grow older and my needs change, I would like to be somewhere where the grass is literally greener. Every trip to Pretty Brooklyn is an opportunity to sift the fog of my future, to foresee how and where I will spend my time.
Despite the calm I feel when I get off the G train, Bushwick is where I need to be right now. I have friends, food, and nightlife within walking distance that cater perfectly to what I, a 24-year-old baby, desire. I do not need to care about boutique grocery stores or feel shame walking around in something shlubby. I can dance to any music at any hour. I can thrift weird garments. There is still so much Mexican food for me to eat.
Once I am ready to be a real adult, Pretty Brooklyn awaits me. I look along the G train for inspiration. Get off at Clinton-Washington; see the kids rush past you on their way to the playground. Get off at Fulton; climb to the top of Fort Greene Park. Get off at Bergen; take your pick of neighborhoods named by real estate developers. Get off at Carroll; bask in the endless tree-lined streets walked by couples coming home from date night. At Smith and 9th, the G ascends above ground, brownstones for days with the World Trade Center in the distance reminding you there’s a borough the uninitiated think is better than where you are.
The most common G stop I get off at is 4th Av–9th St, the gateway to my dream Pretty Brooklyn neighborhood: Park Slope. Park Slope possesses the qualities I seek in an aspirational urban neighborhood — brownstones, boutiques, big park, delicious food, bustle in the day, and calm at night. In this rectangular area next to Prospect Park, the vertical avenues are lined with all the commercial needs of a community, and the horizontal streets are where the community lives — brownstones that blend from far away but each have their own quirks. If I happen across a large fortune, this is where I would chase after my kid on their way home from school.
We all hit life milestones at different times. Two of my anchoring friends, Leah and Ryan, live in Park Slope and propel me to seek greener pastures for the moments I spend with either of them. Leah shocks 30–35-year-olds when they find out she is younger than them. Ryan is part of a food co-op and goes grocery shopping almost daily. They care about the details of their life in a different way than I do, and living in Park Slope suits them perfectly. Imagining either of them living in Bushwick is great sitcom fodder.
Being in Park Slope feels like an exhale. My friends take me to places with longevity, bars I can see myself drinking at in fifteen years and still having just as much fun if not more. The characters are distinctly New York, but the streets remind me of plenty of other places I love. Although certainly not a brownstone, I could afford renting here. So why am I not here? I’m just not at the point of adulthood that living in Park Slope would be optimal.
What makes someone an adult? Is it turning 18? Caring about kitchen appliances? Having a family? Keeping a job? I know some people who have checked all of these boxes but showcase deep selfishness and immaturity. Is adulthood a mindset? Does it mean accepting responsibilities and putting others before yourself?
Bushwick gentrifiers like myself are a union of childlike adults. Despite (usually) having jobs and reaching for success, many take risks and experiment with strange fashions, friends, and drugs. Plenty of these characters buck many traditional notions of adulthood or are straight-up childish. People rove the streets with a collegiate sense of wonder, staying up at all hours and running from stability. Playing with polyamory and ketamine, the neighborhood is their playground.
Park Slope, like Bushwick, used to be an undesirable neighborhood until gentrification began. Park Slope’s transformation began in the 1960s, and I was shocked to learn the neighborhood ever had an era deemed dangerous. Today, it’s white families with strollers occupied by Braxton or Luna or Aidan. Expensive athleisure brands I’ve never heard of. Parenting styles I know nothing about yet. Affluence galore, majority white, corners of quiet in a city known for its noise.
I can’t help but think of what will happen to the Bushwick gentrifiers when they decide to grow up, and what growing up will look like for them. Will they get married? Have kids? If so, would settling down drive them out of New York? Say they stay here: would they choose a more mature version of Bushwick (Greenpoint) or a more conventionally attractive part of town (Park Slope)? Or…could they commit to Bushwick — either uplifting the preexisting community or continuing to tear into its fabric?
Our generation famously cannot afford property, but I’m sure a substantial portion of Bushwick gentrifiers will earn more as they age, and at least would want to rent somewhere different. Places like Park Slope are obviously desirable, and I do not think most people are willing to put enough energy into making Bushwick homey to them. I’ve only seen one white woman pushing a white baby in a stroller during my months living here.
Maybe it’s better to move in and eventually leave; you get to allow more room for the permanent community. But property developers never make it that simple, and even wealthier gentrifiers will take our place. In a perverted way, are we keeping this place from getting worse? Williamsburg just down the L is what Bushwick will probably look like in a few years — tech workers wearing Allbirds instead of theater school graduates wearing Doc Martens. Would Bushwick be a Park Slope next century? Are we as individuals able to slow this process? I don’t think we care enough.
I do not know of a more effective event to create an active community member than raising a family. You become engrossed with the world you build for your children and will work tirelessly to make it utopian. This starts with hopefully picking somewhere you deem safe and enriching, but you will work to make that reality even clearer no matter where your family ends up. You volunteer at school, you take them to extracurriculars, and you commiserate with others who chose the life path of chauffeuring your favorite celebrity. Park Slope’s main stereotype is the hyper-involved “cool” mom, and that is not an accident. Neighborhoods that excel do so on the backbones of nefarious real estate developers and genuine, loving moms (and some dads).
In my Park Slope fantasy, I am one of these moms; however, Bushwick and general New York living have pushed me further away from desiring marriage and children than ever before. The idea of waking up one day and suddenly fiercely needing a traditional structure sounds less feasible every passing day, but if it happened to my mom, it could certainly happen to me. I struggle to imagine what adulthood would look like without these traditional milestones. Would I still crave a quieter life even if I don’t have to accommodate a family’s needs? Park Slope is still part of the city and, therefore, louder than most other neighborhoods in America.
As we age, we hopefully have a chance to bask in the success of our hard work. We associate this and most privilege with quiet (read one of my favorite opinion pieces). Most old-enough people do not have the time, energy, or desire to trample the world around them anywhere other than a dinner table or Facebook comment section. Old retire to paradises, which could be remote cabins, somewhere closer to their kids, or Boca Raton. Even if not politically, we grow more conservative due to our search for quiet.
Our quiet is relative; there are plenty of senior citizens hobbling around the world’s cities, just maybe on a quieter block than where they lived in their twenties. Because of this, Park Slope is aspirational no matter if “wife and mother” could have a shot at being on my gravestone. I can still have the fullness of urban life in a more family-oriented setting. Childrearing or not, part of the allure is contributing to an already great community you hope to make better.
I hope my friends follow the same Park Slope pipeline I want to. Maybe we’ll all be ready and willing to embrace Pretty Brooklyn one day, but the glass on Bushwick’s sidewalks hasn’t punctured my shoes yet.
Other Aspirational Neighborhoods I’ve Been To
Squirrel Hill, Pittsburgh, PA: My first aspirational neighborhood, creating the blueprint for my urban adult fantasy I would not be following if I didn’t have to go here for Sunday School every week. Aspirational neighborhoods are at their best in the fall, and I’m excited to feel the fall wind on my cheeks at the corner of Forbes and Murray when I go home for Thanksgiving.
Brookline, MA: My collegiate aspirational neighborhood. My heaven is a Sunday morning stroll down Beacon Street. Aspirational neighborhoods feel like a glass of red wine, and Brookline is full of upscale restaurants and stately mansions stocked with the stuff.
Wicker Park, Chicago, IL: Chicago was the first city I visited that I felt like I could settle down in. I remember walking through Wicker Park with my mom in high school and watching afternoon wanderers out of a coffee shop window.
East End, Portland, ME: Portland is the best small city in America, and in a way feels like the edge of the world. The East End is the tip of Portland’s peninsula(?) with huge, old houses atop a hill overlooking the Atlantic. I want to walk a dog along the shoreline until I cannot anymore.
Malibu, CA: Malibu also feels like the edge of the world, but a lot more relaxed than the northeastern cold in Portland. What a joy to have miles of coastline at your disposal. There is an ultra-wealthy trailer park atop a hill that a stupid part of me wants to know more about.
Incline Village, Lake Tahoe, NV: I have not been to the California side of Lake Tahoe, but my experience on the Nevada side of the lake makes me want to write novels about nature.
South Kensington, London, UK: I was lucky to study abroad in one of the richest neighborhoods in the world. The dorm I lived in was one whitestone in a line of identical ones leading to Hyde Park’s expanse. Rich olds and collegiate youngs enjoy the neighborhood’s pubs and cafes.
De Pijp, Amsterdam, NE: I love, love, love Amsterdam and could only dream of living in a house along a canal and biking to a park every morning.
Risorgimento, Milan, IT: My mom left drab Pittsburgh for fashionable Milan every summer to stay with her mom’s side of the family. I felt blessed to make the trip with her last year and meet some family members I’ve only known through stories. My second cousin(?) lived with her adorable family in an apartment in this neighborhood, and I could watch the sunset there forever. People who sh*t on Milan don’t know how to have a good time and think Italy should be a country entirely covered by farmland.
Upper West Side, New York, NY: When I imagine myself as an old person, I sometimes picture this round-glasses woman whom I used to see all the time at Temple Sinai who went to Shabbat services every week and walked around the building barefoot after because her feet hurt. If I become like this, I would love to be somewhere as electric yet subdued as the Upper West Side, and that’s not just because it’s the most Jewish place I’ve ever seen. The Upper West Side is what every urban space should be like: a tight-knit community with something for everyone.
This week’s photo is from me bringing a lil’ Bushwick flair to Park Slope’s brownstones. I was nearing the end of a long walk from Bushwick to my friend Ryan’s Park Slope apartment. The best part about the cold is being able to wear a beanie. My friend Dev got me this one last year, and it’s probably my favorite hat.
Olympic Coaching
Recently I’ve been seeing someone who’s super into me and a really great person and so sweet and caring—the kind of person I’ve wanted for so long—but I’m starting to feel like I’m getting tired of her. I feel bad because she checks so many boxes that I’m looking for, I should feel so much more engaged and happier than I do, but I don’t feel like she’s the one. I worry that I’m in too deep and there’s not a way out. What do I do?
— Drowning
Sigh. This is tough for both of you — you aren’t happy, and she’s not getting someone able to reciprocate her feelings fully.
One thing to consider: what does the one really mean to you? Who is this person, what should they make you feel, and where did you develop this image of them? Is this standard realistic for what a real-life human can be? Are you measuring a growing, changing person who is getting to know you to a false idol? Are you repelling affection from a kind, stable(?) person based on a prior pattern of toxicity in your other relationships?
If you’ve made it past these questions and believe you have truly given her a chance, it might be time to bring this relationship to a close. Might! You know much better than me. One of modernity’s tragedies is when youth is wasted in an unhappy relationship. You are not married with child, and even if you were, there is always a way out. Think of it as a service to this good person, and this temporary pain for her would be better felt now than if the relationship continued progressing. You may feel locked into routine right now, but as soon as you are out of it, you will realize how fragile the wall you built yourself was.
No matter what, I recommend talking to her about how you’re feeling. It would give you relief from misery and her the best gift a person can receive: honesty. Lead with kindness. Emphasize that this feeling comes from within and not her behavior. You will win no matter what; your relationship grows stronger through communication or you go your separate ways and find better fits.
Want advice from someone as unqualified but possibly more confident than you? Send in a question for Olympic Coaching.
Current fixations I want to mention
Food & Drink
Every trip to Park Slope is a teensy layer in the foundation of what my life there could look like, and gay bar Good Judy is the equivalent of a hard day’s work. I met my friend Leah there after work to watch drag performers as the Real Housewives (and Andy Cohen) sing parody songs they wrote. The space immediately emanates warmth with cozy but chic decor and nice bartenders. They were playing a new Dragula episode on TV downstairs at the main bar. Our Housewives event was upstairs in this adorable attic of a venue, equipped with its own bar. There’s another room with shows downstairs, but I did not go there. After laughing my dignity away at the show, my frozen margaritas and I were ready for the next event in the attic: karaoke along with a live pianist. This was such a raucous yet sleepy weeknight. I do not know what the space is like on a weekend, but an itinerary of fun best experienced in indoor clothes instead of a going out-fit is the kind of place I want to take refuge in this winter.
Music
I really need to do an installment defining white people music. It’s not necessarily music made by white people; it’s songs and artists that white people, specifically, enjoy. There is a lot of white people music I love (anything by The Beatles, ABBA, and “Livin’ On A Prayer”) and tons of white people music I hate (“Mr. Brightside,” anything by Meat Loaf, and Jack Johnson). I remember first hearing of Father John Misty when SNL announced him as a musical guest and thinking Oh brother, I do not have the capacity to care about this person. “Real Love Baby” has been in the background of well-lit restaurants, hipster bars, and friends’ playlists for years. I never understood the appeal and found it to be another tally in the endless cascade of forgettable, quasi-emotional indie songs. Something about the ambiance of the Friendsgiving I was at this weekend opened me to the song, and I was receptive when it inevitably came on. It started when I was on my way to the bathroom, and I was so happy humming along while washing my hands and gazing deeply into the mirror. I resided in a teeny oasis, just for a moment: me, the bathroom, and Father John Misty.
Internet & Pop Culture
This was a massive week for Internet losers: Taylor Swift/Travis Kelce cuteness, Keke Palmer baby daddy monstrosity…the list goes on. The Grammys announced their annual round of award nominees. Yays: SZA with the most nominations (9), dance pop category for the gays featuring Kylie Minogue and Troye Sivan, and women generally dominating most categories. Flops: Raye not getting any nominations (saw her open for Kali Uchis, and she is beyond the real deal), PinkPanthress snubbed especially with “Boy’s a liar Pt. 2,” which was inescapable this year, and Jon Batiste domination showing that the Recording Academy might just be a bunch of neolib olds sitting around falling asleep to Stephen Colbert every night. Nevertheless, my favorite moment was a compilation of Victoria Monét reacting to her seven nominations. In an earlier newsletter, I detailed my underwhelm with Monét’s JAGUAR II compared to her previous album. I am pleased the Recording Academy disagreed with me and is finally giving this hardworking virtuoso her flowers. She has songwriting credits on some killer pop and R&B songs, but I really was hoping the musical bridesmaid could be the bride. I remember reading a Tweet of hers talking about how the MTV Music Awards did not ask her to perform because it “wasn’t her time.” She did not sound angry, just kind and hoping her time would come soon. I was furious that a unit as washed up as MTV would say such a thing to a rising star. They must be kicking themselves now.
Television & Maybe Movies
Another week, another slam-dunk episode of The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City. Sorry, not sorry. I have never seen a housewives season with zero flop episodes until now. Monica and Lisa’s fight drowning out Whitney’s sound bath sealed itself in the history of legendary housewives fights. Lisa’s delusion and incredible conceitedness have always rubbed me the wrong way, and I love watching her showcase her nastiness. Monica pulls zero punches and finds a way to insult every aspect of Lisa’s character. Angie K’s trying and failing to mediate adds another silly layer to this tiff (and I finally like her?). The cherry on top, of course, is everyone in the room trying to listen to the sound bath but instead being distracted by these women screaming. The episode stands alone as fantastic, but unveiled Twitter tea showing pics of Mary’s son poppin’ pills, Monica and Heather suing/countersuing each other (but they look like such friends at this point on the show!), and Monica wreaking havoc at a car wash for a TikTok just pepper the episode with foreshadowing. Monica, easily the star of the season with growing alliances, now stands alone after the season, and we’ll get to watch how she falls from grace. What an icon. I hope they find a way to keep her around next season.
Journalism & Literature
I was slacking this week and do not have an article to recommend. I do, however, have a video to show you from NBC News. They posted a behind-the-scenes video of GOP candidates mulling about during a debate commercial break. The star of the clip (and the reason why I think NBC posted it) is watching Ron DeSantis’ bizarre walk offstage. If you watch the video, you see the bizarre designation is not ableist, but fact because I can recognize that walk anywhere — the walk of someone struggling through their heels. Like a horse learning to walk on its hooves, heel-wearers everywhere stumble through a side-to-side sway that takes out the inherent sexiness of the shoe. I know this from experience, and I never thought there would be something I would relate to Ron DeSanctimonious on. What a ghoul. The women, trans people, and/or drag queens you wish to police could actually help you a lot with those lifts. Just another strange trait from a robot of mass destruction. Thank you, NBC News, for some real journalism.
Something I Saw in the Wild
I have a special talent for running into people I know in the wild. If it’s someone I like, I cannot think of an easier way to make my day. I met a couple at a Halloween dinner party (Meera was dressed as Ash from Pokemon, and this couple dressed like Ash and Eevee), and we instantly hit it off. Turns out the girl lives a block from me. One of my nights in Pretty Brooklyn this week brought me to a fascinating bar adorned with genuinely spooky and scary decor (Lucky 13, very cool spot!). Upon leaving, I ran into this couple, all of us far enough from home. I could not believe it! Too fun. As if the interaction could not be better, they invited my friend and me to an especially absurd comedy show across the street. We worried that they wouldn’t have enough tickets, but the girl drunkenly bought too many tickets aka enough for my friend and me. What a bizarre set of coincidences to create a great night.