EVERYWHERE I SHOPPED & DINED IN NYC
my first time back since i moved... nothing and everything has changed.
When I first moved to Los Angeles, I had grandiose dreams of being an elusive bicoastal artist.
“I’ll come back in a few months!” I promised at my farewell/birthday party, hosted at BETTY in the Lower East Side (they have a great steak and eggs). This was the dream: my home base in Los Angeles where I could breathe in sea-salty air and get the doctor-recommended amount of vitamin D all year around, coupled with sporadic visits to NYC to maintain my friendships and my ‘woman about town’ persona in equal measure.
But then there were weddings in northern California, Ohio, and Europe, and then work took me back to Europe, and then back to Europe again… by autumn, there was no New York, just me laying in bed rotting on Facetime and making excuses to the friends I promised to see. It wasn’t until Chase mentioned he was booking a trip back to New York a few weeks ago that fomo propelled me to burn through the rest of my credit card points.
Something about me is that I love being in different places but I hate the actual ‘traveling’ part. Especially when the traveling consists of squishing myself into economy class, boarding group 47. On my flight, a woman in front of me ripped off her shoes and socks and then stuck her grotesque toes onto the arm of the seat in front of her. Her bare feet a mere 2 inches from someone’s elbow. Classless all around.
I was in NYC for only 6 days and during that time, god smote the city with a cold front. It was hard not to take it personal. Was this punishment for my gluttonous 65-degree-winter lifestyle? It was a lot for a newly minted Angeleno and especially for this newly minted Angeleno who carelessly packed light: skirts and tights and boots with no traction. I guess I was confident in the power of climate change? And so didn’t even bother looking at the weather report before going east? I did have the foresight to at least bring my 1920s velvet opera coat, a monstrously glamorous thing that swallows me completely. It felt good to look dramatic in a city like New York.
On my first night, I met my friend Robbi at Doris in Clinton Hill.
I was feeling romantic and a touch nostalgic. The lighting was a moody dim orange and outside, snow was beginning to blanket the city. Still, the bar was packed. I said to him, to no one, to everyone: “Wow, I haven’t been here in a long time.”
Robbi looked me squarely in the face and joked, “That’s because you hate New York.”
On the contrary. I love New York. I’ve loved every place I’ve ever been fortunate to live in. But New York was a hard life for me. For one, I have an extreme phobia of rats. It was so bad that I would walk around the city stomping my feet and waving my flashlight in hopes they would be scared off my path. And two, I realized that I was operating on a low level of anxiety every day: being on the subway and in crowds, hearing the never ending symphony of car horns and shouting… It was all so exhausting that by the end of my residency, I wasn’t even taking advantage of living in the coolest place on earth. I stopped going to events, I would see the same three people every week, and on some days, I just never left my apartment.
But when I visited, the city felt fresh again. Every gust of wind I endured was evidence of my body’s resilience. Every sound I formerly labeled as “noise” was proof of life. Every disgruntled shopkeeper was a person with an interesting story. Every block carried the serendipitous potential of running into an old friend. You rarely run into old friends in Los Angeles. By the end of my trip, I felt so imbued with magic that I even took off my headphones to listen to a man serenading the train with Feliz Navidad. I’ve clearly grown soft.
PLACES I SHOPPED/BROWSED (in alphabetical order):1
Cafe Forgot (29 Ludlow St, New York, NY 10002) — I bought a cropped argyle sweater here that turned out to be a synthetic blend (L). I also bought a candle in the shape of a rook, which I gifted to my friend Clara for Hanukkah (W). Cafe Forgot is very much how I’d describe the archetypal “lower east side” -girl. Trendy, but elevated. They feature a number of emerging, local designers who seem to have come straight out of Parsons with a big dream and an equally big loan from their parents. Head there if you’re looking for outfits for NYFW.
Casey Rubber Stamps (322 E 11th St, New York, NY 10003) — The coolest shop for the stationary enthusiast. They have a whole catalog of rubber stamp designs to choose from and they’ll make you one on the spot. (One stamp takes 10 minutes.) It feels so old-New York in there. I love it. Apparently, they also work with custom designs. Imagine how cute it would be to have your own personal stamp to sign off on letters and thank you cards. There’s a gift idea!
Charlot Abhors a Void (244 Canal St #3R, New York, NY 10013) — This is a bit too small a space to be housing so many racks of clothing; I was prying hangers apart in a barbaric manner I’m not too proud of. But patience is a virtue and I eventually found some very unique pieces to take home with me: a felt green crown and a 1940s wasp corset. They also offer a lot upcycled pieces, such as visors made out of polo tops. I only recently discovered this store, so I can’t speak much else on it.
Guesthouse (170 Franklin St, Brooklyn, NY 11222) — formerly Kosuge Bachman & I still think it’s listed as such on Google Maps. The owner, Megan, has got the fiercest curatorial eye in the city, especially when it comes to leathers & furs. Her style is quite sophisticated and elevated — don’t expect to find any polo-visors! — but the pieces are still equally interesting: drapey, asymmetrical Cavalli dresses, moss green trench coats, and reversible fur jackets. It’s pricey though (>$300), so if you see me in the sexiest cut leather jacket that fits like a glove and snatches me just right at the waist… just know I’ve had to sacrifice a lot to get it.
