I hate to be incredibly corny right out the gate but let’s be real, it saves us all time. “One belongs to New York instantly; one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years.” This week has been hard, like pity me hard. My friend and I, whom of which also spent the majority of July in NY, were not-so-sarcastically discussing how awful it is when people ask us, “How was New York?!” Don’t get me wrong, it’s kind of you to inquire but quite excruciating really for us to be able to put it so simply. From now on, I’m going to direct them to that quote. “New York is overrated,” one of them responded. I could’ve leaped into the next world, that’s how personal it felt. I realize how cliche my love for the city sounds; your typical fashion writer who dreams of living in the ‘big’ city. It almost makes me want to vomit up my kelp noodles (how very.. LA of me). But in actuality, I have no ambition to recreate Carrie Bradshaw and I do not gallivant around the Upper East Side, as dominated by Blair and Serena. I crave the downtown grit and grime; I enjoy being unrecognized in a sea full of people. The thing is, no matter how many people you know in New York, it never quite becomes that small. My chances of running into you at Trader Joe’s: slim to none. I take comfort in that; it humbles me.

The very day I arrived home in Toronto, fresh out of my Uber and juggling my severely overweight bags, I couldn’t get the security-locked doors open with my arms and legs twisted in more ways than imaginable. Two girls, both on their cellphones, stood directly in-front of me. They looked up at me, probably looking as awful as Isla Fisher in Confessions of a Shopaholic (again, so so cliche), neither of them lifting a finger. **I’ll also note that I’ve found my voice over the last few years (i.e. not afraid to send food back or ask for something that’s missing, etc), so naturally, I had a few words. This sheer example of complete negligence had not so much as even remotely happened to me whilst away from Canada.

I told you, bitter. Now, for the creative, cultural activities I was fortunate enough to see while wandering a homely city…alone, for the most part. The relocated Whitney Museum was one of my first stops, nestled amongst The High Line in the Meatpacking District. On Friday’s, they have ‘Pay What You Want’. Not wanting to be too chincy, I placed a $10 bill into the box–the woman behind me dressed to the nine’s in some Manolo’s, ironically paid a whopping $3. Never again.

My friend Lianne (a former Torontonian) joined me at the MET to see China: Through The Looking Glass; helm to genius multimedia integration of cultural appropriation of Eastern countries in Westernized film.

Friends made at school reside in a vast majority of home countries: Saudi Arabia, Columbia, France, and Australia, making for enlightening dinner conversations over feminist challenges, domestic lifestyles, food significance, etc etc.

The largest uncustomary shift: I was out, seeing the world and doing things–whether that be lonesome or joined by newly acquainted company. It taught me to rid my unwanted routine and delve into foreign territory because although to some, New York may appear not to differ much from other major cities, in it’s solitary, it is an entirely different world.



**Lastly, excuse the serious rambling intro here^as my mother said, I should’ve paid attention in TV class…

This is an excerpt from the article New York Summer: Part II [+ Video] which originally appeared on http://ethcsofstyl.com/.