The Right Sort of Pervert

Or why I prefer public masturbators to bird watchers

The lake and West Side captured from The Brambles by me.

Sitting at the Plaza Hotel bar with my camera, I realized I looked like a pervert.

In my mind, I wandered into the old building to sit somewhere glamorous, drink a martini, take a few photos, and feel like a part of old New York City. But after a few sips and self-congratulatory pats on my back, I let my gaze drift around the room.

If you’ve heard of the Plaza Hotel, chances are good you know it from the book Eloise. And therefore, you might not be surprised to discover that the Palm Room (where the bar is) is a destination spot for little girls wanting to have tea like one of their favorite fictional characters.

And so I found myself (and my camera) surrounded by families with small children having tea. I was surrounded by little girls in big girl dresses with smiling faces and precocious dreams. All while I sat there sipping my martini and grinning.

Like a fucking pervert.

If you were socialized male, chances are you’ve also felt like a pervert, either by your own wandering gaze or in a similar situation to mine where you found yourself in a setting where, if you were cast in a movie, you would absolutely be credited as child predator number two.