The Wrongest Kind of Pierced Nipple
Settling into the waiting room at the doctor's office last week, Herr Guitar quickly grabbed the first magazine he saw and hid it behind his back.
"You are going to freak out. Just be prepared," he said before handing me the magazine.
It was then I saw the cover of last week's issue of Time Out New York. And I had my first brush with the morning sickness that everyone talks about. The headline: Greetings from Babyburg. Williamsburg's baby boom is in full swing. Bad, but the graphic was even worse: A bottle with a piercing at the tip of the nipple. (I'd link to it if I could, but don't have a subscription.)
So foul. On so many levels. Anyone would find the cover obnoxious, but it was particularly loathsome to us because we moved out of Babyburg one year ago. I am so fucking glad I got out.
I lived in Williamsburg for almost nine years. Back then I only wanted to live in the East Village, but WB was an affordable extension. The East Village was still semi-affordable but I wanted to live alone or, if I had to have a roommate, at least live without mice. One lazy Sunday, my friend and I decided to go check in out. We got on the L train at First Ave., got off at Bedford Ave. about five minutes later, and just stood there. It was empty, sort of like a ghost town. Well, almost a ghost town. There was a cafe by the subway, the sign read L. We stopped in for some coffee. They were playing Pavement's Wowee Zowee - the entire CD. I was home.
We walked around trying to get a sense of the neighborhood, but mostly it was Polish stores, abandoned buildings, the occasional 99 cent place. I'd heard that many artists lived there, and there was an art supply store on Bedford, but I didn't see anyone consciously arting out or arting it up or whatever. I didn't see many people at all. A couple of months later, we found a two bedroom in new construction housing. It was so new and prefab and sterile, it was a cocoon for us Californians - something to keep us sealed away from the harsh New York elements. But the walk from the L train to the house was desolate. The dining options were limited to a cold sandwich or bagel at the L or fancier fare at Oznot's Dish or PlanEat Thailand (this was when it was a hole in the wall, before it supersized and got all disco fabulous).
The only thing I liked about the Babyburg article (which I did read, through gritted teeth) is the author lived in WB at the same time. She mentioned how the only things to do for fun were go to the L Cafe or to Tops Supermarket's meat room to cool off. It's completely true.
Fast forward through the Vanity Fair article and map detailing New York's hottest new neighborhood, the opening of the Mini Mini Mall on Bedford (with it's coveted Ms. PacMan machine), the first Matt Dillon sighting at one of the trendy new bars, Busta Rhymes buying a penthouse in the Gretsch Building, The L Cafe closing, the death of Frank - our longtime neighborhood hobo... and today Williamsburg is a cheesy shadow of its former self. It all happened so quickly. Well, quickly if you consider 9 years a short period of time. While I could see the small changes from week to week, I never really experienced any of the cool hipness that was supposedly oozing from the place. I loved that neighborhood, but from the very beginning I thought it was overrated and overhyped. In fact, I always felt like I was defending it. It's as if the people writing articles about it had never really spent any time there. Sure, there were great affordable restaurants popping up all over the place, but we never really had a bank. Or a shoe store, or a decent bookstore. (Spoonbill and Sugartown and Downer's Pharmacy are great browsing bookstores that came along in later years, if you want to buy some obscure book about Andy Warhol's lost paint brushes or James Joyce's masochistic cousin or the career of Psychic TV, but try to find something you are looking for.) Tops supermarket got more expensive and embraced the new vibe, but it was still a pretty crappy place to have to buy your groceries.
When it came time to let go of our cheap apartment (it was either that or have the carpet professionally cleaned - it was awful), we looked around for something to buy in Williamsburg. There was a new condo building going up on Bedford, which Herr Guitar affectionately referred to as Gaza Strip Housing, because it looked a like cookie cutter, third-world project. I called and found out that 2 bedrooms were starting at $450k (back then this seemed ridiculous, today I'd probably jump at the chance - if our real estate lawyer hadn't had another client buy one and sue the building two months later because the place is covered in toxic mold, as all other new construction in the area probably will be). We soon realized the place was not in our spending league if we wanted to continue to eat at adorable restaurants, go to see shows at North 6 and Warsaw, and afford the occasional taxi from the Village.
So we left Babyburg, ironically, just when we needed it most. Who knew that shithole would turn into a parenting Mecca? The last I knew, only NYU students with trust accounts and yoga mats walked those quaint streets. Now I guess there are stroller traffic jams. I remember there being no open space to walk a dog let alone let a baby play or swing or sandbox, except for the depressing McCarren Park surrounded by smokestacks. Have these wonderparents found the answer? If I recall correctly, the area had one of the highest asthma rates among kids in the city and no decent schools. I guess your child's education is secondary to being thought of a superhipster.
But although I'm out of the loop on the changes in the neighborhood, I caution readers not to believe the hype. Since I left, it seems the buzz has grown louder and louder. To hear the media tell it, Williamsburg is THE HIPPEST SPOT ON THE PLANET. When I went for a haircut at my old salon a few weeks ago, I expected to see a changed neighborhood - the Upper East Side meets Carnaby Street meets Los Feliz meets Austin. Guess what? It's the same shithole. There are some new eurotrashy condo buildings going up, some new storefronts, and many more rich Long Island types who want to be in the happening spot walking around, but everything else is exactly the same. I don't even recall seeing a stroller, but I will give Time Out the benefit of the doubt.
Don't get me wrong - if I owned an apartment in Williamsburg I would be a self satisfied, self righteous asshole right now. I'd still be annoyed by my neighbors and the Long Island- and eurotrash, but I'd laugh at them while adding up my real estate equity.
And when a pierced bottle nipple heralds the posh transformation of my new neighborhood in Jersey City, I will be so thrilled you'll have to change my diaper. (Oh, and it's gonna happen. Just watch. It'll happen.)
"You are going to freak out. Just be prepared," he said before handing me the magazine.
It was then I saw the cover of last week's issue of Time Out New York. And I had my first brush with the morning sickness that everyone talks about. The headline: Greetings from Babyburg. Williamsburg's baby boom is in full swing. Bad, but the graphic was even worse: A bottle with a piercing at the tip of the nipple. (I'd link to it if I could, but don't have a subscription.)
So foul. On so many levels. Anyone would find the cover obnoxious, but it was particularly loathsome to us because we moved out of Babyburg one year ago. I am so fucking glad I got out.
I lived in Williamsburg for almost nine years. Back then I only wanted to live in the East Village, but WB was an affordable extension. The East Village was still semi-affordable but I wanted to live alone or, if I had to have a roommate, at least live without mice. One lazy Sunday, my friend and I decided to go check in out. We got on the L train at First Ave., got off at Bedford Ave. about five minutes later, and just stood there. It was empty, sort of like a ghost town. Well, almost a ghost town. There was a cafe by the subway, the sign read L. We stopped in for some coffee. They were playing Pavement's Wowee Zowee - the entire CD. I was home.
We walked around trying to get a sense of the neighborhood, but mostly it was Polish stores, abandoned buildings, the occasional 99 cent place. I'd heard that many artists lived there, and there was an art supply store on Bedford, but I didn't see anyone consciously arting out or arting it up or whatever. I didn't see many people at all. A couple of months later, we found a two bedroom in new construction housing. It was so new and prefab and sterile, it was a cocoon for us Californians - something to keep us sealed away from the harsh New York elements. But the walk from the L train to the house was desolate. The dining options were limited to a cold sandwich or bagel at the L or fancier fare at Oznot's Dish or PlanEat Thailand (this was when it was a hole in the wall, before it supersized and got all disco fabulous).
The only thing I liked about the Babyburg article (which I did read, through gritted teeth) is the author lived in WB at the same time. She mentioned how the only things to do for fun were go to the L Cafe or to Tops Supermarket's meat room to cool off. It's completely true.
Fast forward through the Vanity Fair article and map detailing New York's hottest new neighborhood, the opening of the Mini Mini Mall on Bedford (with it's coveted Ms. PacMan machine), the first Matt Dillon sighting at one of the trendy new bars, Busta Rhymes buying a penthouse in the Gretsch Building, The L Cafe closing, the death of Frank - our longtime neighborhood hobo... and today Williamsburg is a cheesy shadow of its former self. It all happened so quickly. Well, quickly if you consider 9 years a short period of time. While I could see the small changes from week to week, I never really experienced any of the cool hipness that was supposedly oozing from the place. I loved that neighborhood, but from the very beginning I thought it was overrated and overhyped. In fact, I always felt like I was defending it. It's as if the people writing articles about it had never really spent any time there. Sure, there were great affordable restaurants popping up all over the place, but we never really had a bank. Or a shoe store, or a decent bookstore. (Spoonbill and Sugartown and Downer's Pharmacy are great browsing bookstores that came along in later years, if you want to buy some obscure book about Andy Warhol's lost paint brushes or James Joyce's masochistic cousin or the career of Psychic TV, but try to find something you are looking for.) Tops supermarket got more expensive and embraced the new vibe, but it was still a pretty crappy place to have to buy your groceries.
When it came time to let go of our cheap apartment (it was either that or have the carpet professionally cleaned - it was awful), we looked around for something to buy in Williamsburg. There was a new condo building going up on Bedford, which Herr Guitar affectionately referred to as Gaza Strip Housing, because it looked a like cookie cutter, third-world project. I called and found out that 2 bedrooms were starting at $450k (back then this seemed ridiculous, today I'd probably jump at the chance - if our real estate lawyer hadn't had another client buy one and sue the building two months later because the place is covered in toxic mold, as all other new construction in the area probably will be). We soon realized the place was not in our spending league if we wanted to continue to eat at adorable restaurants, go to see shows at North 6 and Warsaw, and afford the occasional taxi from the Village.
So we left Babyburg, ironically, just when we needed it most. Who knew that shithole would turn into a parenting Mecca? The last I knew, only NYU students with trust accounts and yoga mats walked those quaint streets. Now I guess there are stroller traffic jams. I remember there being no open space to walk a dog let alone let a baby play or swing or sandbox, except for the depressing McCarren Park surrounded by smokestacks. Have these wonderparents found the answer? If I recall correctly, the area had one of the highest asthma rates among kids in the city and no decent schools. I guess your child's education is secondary to being thought of a superhipster.
But although I'm out of the loop on the changes in the neighborhood, I caution readers not to believe the hype. Since I left, it seems the buzz has grown louder and louder. To hear the media tell it, Williamsburg is THE HIPPEST SPOT ON THE PLANET. When I went for a haircut at my old salon a few weeks ago, I expected to see a changed neighborhood - the Upper East Side meets Carnaby Street meets Los Feliz meets Austin. Guess what? It's the same shithole. There are some new eurotrashy condo buildings going up, some new storefronts, and many more rich Long Island types who want to be in the happening spot walking around, but everything else is exactly the same. I don't even recall seeing a stroller, but I will give Time Out the benefit of the doubt.
Don't get me wrong - if I owned an apartment in Williamsburg I would be a self satisfied, self righteous asshole right now. I'd still be annoyed by my neighbors and the Long Island- and eurotrash, but I'd laugh at them while adding up my real estate equity.
And when a pierced bottle nipple heralds the posh transformation of my new neighborhood in Jersey City, I will be so thrilled you'll have to change my diaper. (Oh, and it's gonna happen. Just watch. It'll happen.)
posted by j.m. at 3:10 PM
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