This is gonna be one of those over the top hey-lookit-me-talk-about-me-on-my-blog-about-me posts, but I’m a SPECIAL SNOWFLAKE DAMMIT so listen up.
When I was home in NY briefly this past holiday I snuck into my moms office and scanned a bunch of nostalgic garbage. This issue of McCalls (1973) is probably the biggest score from that mission. It’s a whole spread about these crazy hippie artist who live in these disgusting warehouses in lower Manhattan. It’s funny how this magazine, whose primary demo (as far as I can figure) is old white women in North Carolina who knit socks for their cats, describes our neighborhood as “grimy and unglamorous”. But you know what!? IT WAS. It was great. It was perfect as a matter of fact. I miss it. The neighborhood has been almost completely gutted of its tin ceilings and beat up wooden floors to make way for central air units and Upper-East-Side-like doormen’ed lobbies. Travis Bickel would have approved of this new city, I’m sure
EDIT: Here’s a funny New York Times article I found in the process of writing this post. Look for me and some of my friends from the neighborhood in it. My mother makes me sound like Little Lord Fauntleroy.