Every time I visit New York City, I think about how my views of it have developed and how this trajectory reflects my own personal growth. I’m a habitual lurker, having visited five times now, but never for a stretch longer than three days. I once thought I could tackle each neighborhood at a time, slowly stitching together a complete landscape. Now, I realize the accumulation of these experiences is more like layering brushstrokes on a canvas—creating a hazy outline at first, then going over certain parts to create more depth, and finally adding texture by revisiting those places with different people.
The visibility of wealth
I broke my New York City virginity in my junior year of high school on a college tour. Manhattan summers are sticky compared to temperate Seattle. Dust clogged my lungs and my eardrums ached from the perpetual honking and sirens. Where was the adrenaline headrush that I’d been promised? It’s safe to say, I didn’t apply to any schools in the city.
My fifth time in Manhattan was my first time finding tranquility. Strolling through a quiet street in Chelsea, D pointed at the line of brownstone houses. “These are $25 million.”
“I’ll never be rich enough,” I sighed.
After my commencement ceremony, I’d taken the Amtrak up to New Haven and tasted what it’s like to be a student at Yale and Wesleyan. Going to New York City after that and hanging out with D, an NYU graduate, I was struck by how different our exposures to wealth and lifestyle were.
At NYU, wealth is in your face. D began listing off the children of CEOs he knows, the Michelin restaurants he’s dined at, and his piano students whose parents throw money for their children in the hopes that an ounce of success will stick. When D’s international friend let us perch on the 50th floor of his Midtown apartment complex, D pointed at a neon rooftop club in one of the silhouetted skyscrapers in the distance and vowed to get up there one day.
Constrained by D.C.’s more limited experiential opportunities, the primary way Georgetown students show wealth is through dining. As I ate my sort serve and store-bought pickles alone after commencement, I flipped enviously through the countless Instagram stories featuring Michelin meals posted by peers who I may never see again.
By contrast, Yale’s wealth is deeply embedded in its historic institutions. All graduates and their families lived in, celebrated with, and ate lunch at their centuries-old residential colleges. While certainly, there were students from money much older than that of Georgetown or NYU, they needed no additional signifiers of their status other than their Yale degrees.
Finally, Wesleyan took equality to an extreme. While attending a backyard wig party on the avenue of college senior homes, I felt entranced at a sleepaway summer camp. In the middle of nowhere Middletown Connecticut with nothing to splurge on, all students stood on equal ground.
Meanwhile, I’d just finished a tasting menu dinner at the Michelin-starred New-American restaurant Musket Room in SoHo, but I felt like a fraud. Just a few days prior, my parents had rented a cheap Airbnb in Virginia for my graduation so they could cook. Meanwhile, my friend’s parents had flown business class from Hong Kong and stayed at a four-star hotel in downtown D.C. My throat itched with the ridiculousness of splurging tens of thousands of dollars for a three-day event (wealth is saved, not spent), but guilt, shame, and jealousy perched on my shoulders (wealth is meaningless, unless it is spent).
As I peer at my post-grad life, stretching before me is a landmine of hypocrisies, oxymorons, paradoxes, and contradictions. Know when to negotiate, but follow the rules. Be a go getter, but stay humble.
“No…but sort of,” replies a mutual friend working as a sales associate at a luxury fashion retailer when I asked her the question: “can you tell who is wealthy, and do you treat these customers differently?”
It’s never possible to truly see someone in the same light when you realize their level of wealth and status. I walked into Burberry with a friend the other day, pretending to understand how the trench coats are named after London’s royal boroughs, and praying the sales associate couldn’t detect the waver in my voice.
What the sales associate doesn’t know is that I used to practice lowering my pitch for high school debate, because high-pitched feminine voices are perceived as less credible. He doesn’t know that I tried picking up golf (I’m still horrible), watched the Super Bowl, and subscribed to investing newsletters to curate commonalities with future business partners.
The sales associate at MaxMara doesn’t know that prior to beginning at Georgetown, my mother handed me a classic belted coat from the brand, along with a designer purse, and told me to associate with the rich kids.
“Poor people are unambitious, just look at your dad,” she’d warned, despite telling me to treat all people equally, regardless of their intellect or wealth.
It’s an upper middle-class habit. Like D, I sometimes begin listing off all the richest people I’ve met over the last few years. I befriended most of them without knowing their wealth. How lucky I am that people like my company, wit, and personality, I think. What will happen when our incomes diverge? Will we still have a reason or opportunity to connect? Will they still want to associate with me? Will I want to associate with them?
To maximize or not to maximize?
“I had this crazy dystopian dream where the government banned too much fun. Like, no nicotine or weed,” J explained after waking up the morning after the Wesleyan wig party.
“That’s not dystopian, though. Most countries haven’t legalized nicotine and weed,” I countered. Plus, I don’t do drugs.
However, I was missing J’s point, which was a statement about living in a world without artificial dopamine.
I’m caught in a tug-of-war between abstinence and dopamine hits. Wake up to the chirping birds and breathe in the crisp dewy air; or drive 10 miles over the speed limit while blasting a house DJ set. Eat clean home-cooked meals with no added sugar; or indulge in labneh soft serve after a luxurious six-course Mediterranean meal. I power walk on my treadmill, scrolling endlessly through Reddit, Substack, and Goodreads, while listening to a podcast on 2x speed. Halfway through my walk, I go through my email and begin unsubscribing to old newsletters and deleting photos.
Life would’ve been buttery smooth if I’d never sampled all these dopamine rushes in the first place. But hey—it’s too late to put the genie back in the bottle, so intermittent fasting it is. Moderation doesn’t work. It’s all or nothing.
All or nothing. Must-try or no-one-has-tried…my head fractures in two while roaming New York City. My brain contains a bucket list of iconic experiences: L’Industrie pizza by the slice, a run along the Westside Highway, omakase under $100. However, my eyes prowl the alleyways for any hidden rooftops and quaint boutiques. Swinging between two extremes… this is a theme as of late.
Here’s another pair: insecurity and confidence. The people fascinated by New York City are walking a tightrope between these two forces. The world is your oyster, but a pearl is not guaranteed. Hence, there’s an ugly convergence of maximizers wanting to be satisficers, and satisficers wanting to be maximizers.
My statement that “I’ll never be rich enough” is a case of the latter. How can one not want more? Private membership clubs promising access to the most elite networks keeping popping up. Around every corner is a new restaurant or cafe by an established brand. Luxury brands like Ralph Lauren once content on serving the upper class are now opening cafes to reach younger audiences. Simultaneously, affordable brands have begun targeting the upper echelons. For instance, Hyundai’s premium line Genesis launched Genesis House, which includes a showroom, a studio, and a fine-dining Korean restaurant.
On the flip side, some people are striving to form genuine connections. A Georgetown alum a year older than me told me about his friend who hosts backyard dinners with strangers. How did we get here where casual communal dining is considered innovative? We all need to touch grass.
To maximize or not to maximize? To log Strava miles with the new social run club of 200 members, or jog with a hometown friend? That is the question.
My hypothesis is that a New Yorker’s answer depends on the shape of and placement on their individual time horizon. Initially, one gets high off the thrill of skyscraper dreams and underground desires. But eventually, most people reach a burnout stage—when this actually happens depends on one’s innate desire to maximize. From there, people want to “settle down” and “find community.” When the rose-tinted glasses come off, the typical New Yorker traits begin to look more like the ills of humanity. Ambition becomes competitiveness, confidence becomes narcissism, and drive becomes stubbornness.
Thinking about my own attachment to NYC, I wonder how much of it is an innate awe for the city, and how much of it is a pull toward the people I know and love. In other words, if I knew no one, would I still like the city so much? Has my fondness for it grown because I’ve adopted the traits associated with a New Yorker and developed an appreciation for large cities? Or is it because I’ve created, and want to continue creating, memories with friends? Evidently, the answer is both, but I’m not sure what the percentage distribution is.
I’ve wondered the same thing about New York. Sometimes I catch myself thinking, One day I know I won’t feel the same about New York. Meaning I’ll love it less. But I also want to be like a dog. To believe that only the present moment exists. To stop quantifying time. To remind myself we have all the time in the world. I’ll continue to feel this way. So I’ll go ahead and cut the additional clause—“until I don’t”—because there’s no until. There’s only right now.
— Countdown by Evana (Arbiter of Distaste)
To me, New York City is the holder of future promises. It’s a cosmopolitan crossroads, an intersection of time and space and people. No matter the dreams we’ve manifested, the oceans we’ve traversed, and the mountains we’ve climbed, here is where we will meet again.
From 5/31 - 6/11, I’ll be in Japan (again). Stay tuned…