July 5, 2012
The East Side wants me to be fancy. If above Central Park to about 90th, Lexington and west, it wants me to carry a proper handbag with a handle, to wear dark jeans with high heels, to peer at the world through dark glasses with interlocking back-to-back C's on the temples. It wants me to paint my nails the palest of non-colors. If below Tenth Street and east of Second Avenue, it wants me to be fancy in the reverse. It wants tattoos and piercing, to sneer at the world, glasses or not. Oh, East Side, give it a west.