CD #21: I ❤️ NY

And occasionally it hearts me back

A few days ago I read this fun article in The Cut, which explores how New Yorkers are expressing their civic pride and supporting city businesses by wearing clothing, hats, bags and pins emblazoned with the logos of local establishments:

A year into the pandemic, with high-fashion trends nonexistent, everywhere I look people are cloaking themselves in NYC merch—from the average citizen to the hipsters of Bed-Stuy. And not just the classic I ❤️ NY tees or Knicks jerseys but hats from Con Ed or their local hardware store. Unable to travel but spared the herds of sidewalk-clogging tourists, New Yorkers have been supporting their neighborhood joints, snapping up polity-branded souvenirs as if we were flyover kids on a shopping spree in a Times Square gift shop. Wearing the “Yankee fitted,” as the nonadjustable cap is known, has long been a way for people to declare unironically, “I am on Team NYC.” Repping the city by repping its establishments—forestalling their bankruptcies one T-shirt purchase at a time—has become a big part of street style.

The article made me miss New York, a city I’ve visited at least a dozen times and love dearly. Most of my relatives there live in deep Brooklyn, but over the years I’ve gotten to know Manhattan fairly well. And while I never bought a “Yankee fitted,” I did once own a piece of NY merch that I treasured throughout my adolescence—a purple NYU t-shirt I picked up at the university gift shop when my cousin Daryl took us Canadian cousins on a tour of his campus. I was 14 and naive enough to think that maybe one day I’d go to New York University too, not knowing that by the time I graduated high school, I’d barely be able to afford a grad dress, much less tuition at an American university. Still, I wore that shirt until it was faded.

To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have done well in the city anyway with all the noise, the crowds, and the smells of garbage permeating every street corner. But how I love to visit.

My last trip to NY was in August 2019, a one-night stop on the way to a writers conference in Lancaster, PA. I landed at JFK, hopped on the subway and met my cousin Linda at her office in midtown Manhattan. She took me to a tiny Japanese noodle place near Union Square, where we slurped udon and waited for my other cousin Christine to get off work. Before catching the Q train back to Brooklyn, I convinced them to stop at The Strand bookstore to see if my book was in stock.

My cousins, lifelong New Yorkers but not big readers, had never been there before, so it was my turn to be the guide. I led them up the stairs to the graphics section and quickly found the shelf where the Ws sat. I scanned the spines, hoping to see a sliver of red with Dear Scarlet on it. But no. Nothing. My cousins murmured their condolences and I shrugged, saying, “I can’t expect every bookstore to have it.”

An employee stocking shelves nearby overheard us and asked if we wanted him to check the system. So I followed him to the computer. He looked it up and said, “Oh, it’s not on the shelf because it’s on a table.” It turns out Dear Scarlet was featured in a display right in the middle of the graphics section with a bunch of other comics written by women.

My cousins squealed. People glanced up from their quiet browsing. I died. I’m writing this to you from beyond the grave. It was one of the best moments of my life, really, to see my little book displayed so finely at an iconic bookstore in what I consider to be the literary capital of the world.

After signing a few copies for the store and dragging my newly deceased self back downstairs, Christine suggested I get a souvenir to commemorate the evening.

I flipped through the t-shirt racks but couldn’t bring myself to buy one because they were all crewnecks. You see, I actively avoid crewnecks because I believe they make my neck look thick—which is unfortunate, I know, especially since most band and artist tees come only in this style. But, alas, the only force stronger than my sentimentality is my vanity, so no crewnecks for me.

In the end, I bought a little pouch to hold my drawing supplies, and it gives me good vibes whenever I use it. I hope The Strand survives this pandemic, as well as all the other wonderful indie bookstores across the U.S. and Canada. I hope, wherever you are, your favourite local businesses make it through to the other side. And I can’t wait until we can travel to our favourite places again.

:) Teresa

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