Between jet setting from Miami to New York City in the past two weeks- (dare I say I am alive?) I have tousled with my emotions of being a lover of all things urban, industrial, and city like. I want to be that person that can fall in love with a country side- but as I weaved my way among the scorched pavement of Manhattan I found myself in a trance. To truly love this city, I believe you have to love it all. You have to embrace its chaos, garbage, density- and allow it to overlap with its sense of vibrancy, ingenuity, and charm. I mentally sucker punch those who complain about New York’s loudness, diversity, and wit. I have always known it as a city that discards of the weak and futile. Darwin would applaud this thought, but what I have learned on my many journeys to Manhattan is that if you are a minimalist, stay out of this city. The cramped, cluttered, and overdecorated skyline makes me lustful for patterned interiors, and excess of accessories on my wrists.
Swaying from the Palm for bar bites, to the Upper West side where I rested on my favorite friend’s rooftop- NYC treated me well this July. Don’t forget the property envy of the floor to ceiling windows of my friend’s father’s pad- drool all you want loves, watch out for the keyboard. But as always I realize when waiting for the subway, or biting into the most decadent of cakes in Manhattan, perhaps I was always destined to have my greatest love affair with this city. (Credit goes to Carrie Bradshaw for that one, SATC fans rejoice!)