Welcome to Bushwick

Yesterday, as I got off the L train, to visit my best friend’s new apartment in Bushwick, I looked up and said to myself, “We’re definitely not in Manhattan anymore, Toto.”

I mean, I had heard of hipsters before, Obviously. I’ve watched HBO Girls in its entirety. But nothing prepared me for this kind of breed. At first glance, it seems really cool: there’s some murals on the sides of buildings, and a couple of health food stores, you know, things that I generally enjoy.

I walked into a coffee shop, and all six people inside looked up from their macintosh laptops and checked me out, as if in any moment we would have some version of a butt-smelling exchange. If I had ever met real-life zombies, I’m now convinced they live in Brooklyn.

The coffee shop was so dimply lit that I thought they were closing for the day, and one girl in the corner was picking her face from behind her laptop screen. Zombie for sure.

The way I was staring at them, they were staring at me. Most of these people had piercings in places I didn’t think could be pierced, while I was wearing an outfit sponsored by Gap. My small-town vibe was clear, and I stuck out like a sore thumb.

Realizing that I was unwanted, I walked out and met up with my friend and told her of my fascinations and discoveries and how different her new neighborhood was. And because she thought I was being hysterical, she showed me around some more and we walked into other coffee shops, and the like before reaching her apartment. Each place was stranger than the last, and I was eating it up while it was swallowing me whole. We quickly got back to Manhattan, and on the 15 minute train ride back I reflected on this experience with a list.

Things I learned in Brooklyn:

Everyone is a hipster. Everyone.

The things you see on TV are real.

There are more vegan items in the world than are readily available to me.

I will never be cool enough to live in Bushwick.