I visited New York City for the first time in my life last week. It’s odd coming to the city after a lifetime of consuming media that references various locations within it. I almost feel like I know it even though I’ve never been. This is the place where it all happens, where everyone important lives. It’s THE reference point for everything. The heights of tall objects are compared to The Statue of Liberty. The blast radius of nuclear bombs are compared to the size of Manhattan. Local news is reported as if it is in the national interest for people around the country to know.
The people were different than the ones I’m accustomed to. The drivers honk more and drive aggressively. The subway passengers wear thousand-dollar Balenciaga sneakers. They are taller, better looking, and better dressed than the people you’re used to.
And everywhere there is self-reference. In the cities I frequent, paraphernalia bearing the name of the city is confined to a handful of tourist shops in the downtown area (if it exists at all). In New York City, it is absolutely everywhere. Everywhere the implicit experience for sale is the same: I was there. I was part of it. I matter.
I felt this emotion everywhere I went. Manhattan truly feels like the center of the country. I found myself looking at the cost of renting an apartment in Chinatown or in Brooklyn, wondering if I could afford it, wondering who I might become friends with if I moved there, and what experiences I might have that I would otherwise miss.
I also felt periodic disgust with the excess, the self-importance, and the highly visible obsession with status that so many people seem to exhibit. I looked up at the empty $200 million apartments in Billionaire’s row and thought about how badly large cities need a land value tax. I looked around at all the tourists in Times Square, smiling for the camera in front large billboards, then frowning as they examined the photo to see whether it was good enough to post on Instagram. I wondered how many children we could cure of malaria if these people shifted 10% of their spending towards helping others.
This is the place where rich people go to compete in zero-sum status games. It breeds arrogant, out-of-touch elites. This is the place where talented young people go to pay half their income in rent and raise a small furry child simulator in place of the one they have forgotten to want. This is, as Isegoria so aptly put it, an IQ grinder, that disproportionately attracts smart and well educated people who reproduce at below replacement rate.
The huge disparities between rich and poor are omnipresent. I watched several dozen people (myself included) walk past a homeless diabetic with legs that were literally rotting away. I briefly wondered what was wrong with society that we allowed this to happen before walking away to board a bus out of the city.
I’m sure all these things have been said about New York City before, and I’m sure they will be said again in the future. I’ll probably return for a longer visit sometime in the future.
I visited New York City for the first time in my life last week. It’s odd coming to the city after a lifetime of consuming media that references various locations within it. I almost feel like I know it even though I’ve never been. This is the place where it all happens, where everyone important lives. It’s THE reference point for everything. The heights of tall objects are compared to The Statue of Liberty. The blast radius of nuclear bombs are compared to the size of Manhattan. Local news is reported as if it is in the national interest for people around the country to know.
The people were different than the ones I’m accustomed to. The drivers honk more and drive aggressively. The subway passengers wear thousand-dollar Balenciaga sneakers. They are taller, better looking, and better dressed than the people you’re used to.
And everywhere there is self-reference. In the cities I frequent, paraphernalia bearing the name of the city is confined to a handful of tourist shops in the downtown area (if it exists at all). In New York City, it is absolutely everywhere. Everywhere the implicit experience for sale is the same: I was there. I was part of it. I matter.
I felt this emotion everywhere I went. Manhattan truly feels like the center of the country. I found myself looking at the cost of renting an apartment in Chinatown or in Brooklyn, wondering if I could afford it, wondering who I might become friends with if I moved there, and what experiences I might have that I would otherwise miss.
I also felt periodic disgust with the excess, the self-importance, and the highly visible obsession with status that so many people seem to exhibit. I looked up at the empty $200 million apartments in Billionaire’s row and thought about how badly large cities need a land value tax. I looked around at all the tourists in Times Square, smiling for the camera in front large billboards, then frowning as they examined the photo to see whether it was good enough to post on Instagram. I wondered how many children we could cure of malaria if these people shifted 10% of their spending towards helping others.
This is the place where rich people go to compete in zero-sum status games. It breeds arrogant, out-of-touch elites. This is the place where talented young people go to pay half their income in rent and raise a small furry child simulator in place of the one they have forgotten to want. This is, as Isegoria so aptly put it, an IQ grinder, that disproportionately attracts smart and well educated people who reproduce at below replacement rate.
The huge disparities between rich and poor are omnipresent. I watched several dozen people (myself included) walk past a homeless diabetic with legs that were literally rotting away. I briefly wondered what was wrong with society that we allowed this to happen before walking away to board a bus out of the city.
I’m sure all these things have been said about New York City before, and I’m sure they will be said again in the future. I’ll probably return for a longer visit sometime in the future.