i <3 NYC

Do I move?

Hi On Da Brinkers –

Sorry for the masssssive gap. I wrote a gigantic piece about my life for the On the Brink IRL event and while I would love to publish it here...I’ve been advised not to. Apparently, it’s “you should pitch this to someone” good, per the suggestion of a much more established writer friend. So, for once, I’m going to try to do that. Anyway.

I’m happy to report the event ended up being unexpectedly so special. We laughed. We cried! People lingered. The energy in the room was magical. Thank you to everyone who came, and welcome to all the new subscribers!

Now.

A few days ago, the one and only Lena Dunham published a piece in The New Yorker called “Why I Broke Up with New York” right as The Cut’s “It’s Nice to Be a West Village Girl” started making the rounds. And as many of you know, my ass is in NYC this month, flirting with the idea of spending more time here somehow, some way. I’d already started jotting down thoughts on the city since getting here, so this felt like the right time to get them out.

Lena’s angle was that New York was probably the worst place for her anxiety-riddled child self…constitutionally unfit for city life despite being born smack in the middle of it. And yes. That makes a lot of sense.

I guess my angle is: I’m a sound-sensitive, nature-loving adult in my mid-thirties, and while it doesn’t make much sense on paper, I’m completely compelled by this city right now.

And yeah, maybe you find observations about people’s relationships with New York tired. Boring. Done to death. I, however, do not! I love reading about people’s relationships with cities. I think it’s one of the most interesting genres. What it’s like to build a life somewhere new. The adjustments. I want all of it!

So.

I’m in New York City in May, which is famously the best month here (besides October). It’s warm, it’s light out until 8 p.m., everyone is on the verge of sweating through their clothes but the tulips are up, so who cares! The thaw from winter is emotional as much as it is seasonal. Faces have softened. Everyone’s outside.

Yesterday I walked 18k steps. And I didn’t even try! In LA that type of movement has to be scheduled. I have to “get my steps in” like a good little soldier of optimization.

Here I leave my sublet and 9 hours later, my phone is dying, and I’m texting someone from a Japanese jazz bar like, “How did I get here?”

A few days ago I was walking to the jewelry district for a scout (for a shoot I directed yesterday), listening to Jeff Buckley and having close to a religious experience. It started to drizzle. I didn’t care. It made the song hit harder.

I walked booth to booth, trying to find a place that would give me permission to shoot. It was straight out of a movie. “You gotta talk to da boss.” “Good with me, but you need to talk to the big guy.” I kept getting passed off. Incredible.

While I was there, I sold a vintage Cartier watch from a cursed ex to a guy who offered $1k. I smiled. He said $1,100. I said, “Let’s make it $1,111.” “Ohhh... for the energy,” he said. An almost perfect interaction in my books.

As I walk the streets of NYC, I often open my Notes app mid-stride because the ideas come fast here. Off the cuff, full of adrenaline.

I look lovingly at the brownstones as I pass by and start calculating…only to conclude that I would have to start a fucking Only Fans and sell butthole pics to afford the life I wanna have here.

I scroll Zillow for a second.