Interviewing a New Yorker

I started my life in New York in a shoebox on Madison Avenue. I’m told most people begin their lives here in shoeboxes. I wasn’t at my first address long; apparently no one is in this town. In the six years I’ve been here, the only time I was alone was in that shoebox.

About five and a half years ago I left Madison Avenue for a week in New Jersey before making my way back to the Big City—this time to the Upper East Side. I had a few dozen room-mates in that apartment--at least it felt that way. Some had been there longer than me, some left while I stayed on. I noticed that the tallest girls got ugly the quickest. Well, they left home the most. I wasn’t tall, but I wasn’t squat either. I have enough wrinkles to show for my looks. By that I just mean that my pointy nose and leathery skin didn’t keep me from getting picked up.

My favorite New York memory took place at Mo’s Carribean. On a Wednesday on the corner of 76th and 2nd Avenue under a tacky red awning on a sticky spring day in 2005, I was sitting outside when the Brazilian waitress complimented the white cross-stitching on the red bow I proudly bore. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She had a tramp stamp clearly visible in her too-low jeans that read, “Made in Brazil”. I have one on my back a bit higher that reads, “Made in Italy”. I felt like we were sisters. I saw her smoking later, cursing loudly at her novio on an unnaturally small cell phone. It was bitter-sweet. A girl that good-looking could have problems didn’t comfort me but it did soothe my ego. At that point, I was past my prime.

For the past year, I’ve been living in FiDi—the financial district—it differs from the Upper East Side in that puppies replace prams and yuppies with leashes replace the foreign nannies pushing babies. Many of the girls moved downtown with me, some were let go. We’ve added a few new girls to the group; it’s always nice to see the young ones—so eager to please and excited to leave. I like it here better than I liked living uptown; for one thing, it’s close to every major subway which means less pavement pounding when I do go out.

This City is made for walking and I’m not as energetic as I used to be. I steer clear of the sidewalks in the winter these days; my soles aren’t made for wet weather. I get too hot in the summer, so I keep cool at home. I like to entertain so I have guests over and I’m not so polite anymore that I won’t retire before they depart.

This week, there are boxes all around. I hear buzz of us moving to SpaHa—Spanish Harlem—next week. I’m not sure I’m ready to rely solely on the 6-train again, but I go where I am taken. I’m a kept woman, but it beats paying rent.

Made by Moschino; worn by Vicious. Every shoe has a story--this is mine!