Berlin, you are not Brooklyn.

A love letter to my new home of the moment.

I moved to Berlin a few months ago from Brooklyn. For months, and maybe years leading up to this move, I read about Berlin in tweets, posts, and countless articles. Many proclaimed it as the “next Brooklyn”. Some said it was “already over”.

I didn’t move to Berlin to experience a different version of Brooklyn. Or an older version of New York City. I moved to Berlin because I was inspired by what I believed was going on. It seemed to be overflowing with creative people. Rent was cheap, by New York City standards. There was art everywhere. Why not dig in, and see it all for myself?

Three months in, I can honestly say that I love the city of Berlin. It wasn’t easy, and it took a while. Wading through drug dealers in Gorlitzer Park, getting accustomed to anarchists lighting cars on fire, and attacking my apartment building with paint bombs. The grit, the grime and the graffiti that covers every inch of every building from the sidewalk to as far as a human hand can reach.

Once I was able to look past the dirty spray paint, I could see beautiful things. And I could see why Berliners are proud of their “poor but sexy” city.

Outside of the notable absence of black people, Berlin is diverse. Diverse in income, age, style, religion, and nationality. And the people are friendly. With the possible exception of the anarchists who rightfully resent gentrifyers like me moving into their neighborhoods, the citizens of Berlin don’t mind me. They tolerate my broken, 3 year old level of German language skills. And they’re always willing to teach, assist and share.

In Berlin, people protest, and it matters. Watching what’s going on back home makes this especially relevant. I’ve seen — and read about — countless protests in Berlin where people took to the streets, and influenced change. When people gather, leaders pay attention. This is refreshing.

In Berlin, people are individuals. “Lumbersexual” isn’t really a thing. It’s hard to describe the Berlin style in words, but I’d try with “individualistic”. Maybe “ageless”. There are fantastic styles from every era, on individuals of every age. I love seeing people in their 70’s with bright red mohawks. Grandmas in leather pants. And people from all walks of life wearing their own thing in their own way. Most of it vintage, without logos, purchased at one of the many flea markets, and then layered over something else entirely. And I’ve only seen a person in a suit, once. (Pretty sure he was from out of town.)

There are artists everywhere. There’s a joke that everyone in Berlin is “either a freelance designer or working on an app”. That’s not too far from the truth. I’ve met some of the most uniquely careered people in my life here. Affordability makes nearly anything possible. And there are real artists who are surviving on their art.

Berlin really is the city that doesn’t sleep. The parties begin on Friday and end sometime on Sunday. Or Monday. People leave for breakfast, and then go back to the dance floor. It’s an every weekend (and every day) thing for clubs and parties to go non-stop, day and night. As a runner, Berlin is the only city that I’ve run in where the ravers outnumber the runners in the streets on a Sunday morning.

Berliners enjoy life. Maybe this is the lifestyle throughout Europe — I don’t know, but I know one thing for sure…citizens of Berlin have not dedicated their lives to their jobs. And this is refreshing. In the summer, you’ll see throngs of people young and old, on the banks of the canal, enjoying a beer. At 4:30pm. People travel, take real vacations, leave the office at a respectable time. They spend time with their families in the parks. Day after day. When you meet someone at a bar, “what do you do?” isn’t the first question they ask. It doesn’t matter.

I’ve heard that the New York Times reporters were recently admonished for comparing everything to Brooklyn. Hooray. Not everything has to be “Brooklyn” to be awesome. Berlin is a fun, colorful, weird and gritty city. And it’s nothing like Brooklyn or Manhattan. If anything, it has more in common with Austin. A city doesn’t have to be better, cooler, hotter, trendier or ranked in comparison to any other city. Cities earn their own personalities that make them who they are. It’s time that people stop making comparisons, and admiring places for what they are, instead of what they aren’t or might be.

Sure, I miss breakfast at my local diner in Brooklyn. I miss the bagels. I miss the East Village, the West Village, and Soho west. I miss my friends and family. And New York City will always be my first girlfriend. But I’m not moving back any time soon, as for now…I’m in love with Berlin.