“New York City today is optimized for two [kinds of] people. It’s optimized for really rich guys in their 40s and 50s, and for really hot women in their 20s and 30s. And for nearly everyone else, it’a a soul-crushing experience. If you are not in one of those two demographics, do not move to New York City. For it is capitalism meets Darwin meets Three’s Company and I Dream of Jeannie meets reality TV.” — Scott Galloway.
Manhattan-residing friendo: “Pretty damn accurate! Except NYC is also welcoming to hot finance guys in their 20s and 30s.”
I lived in Manhattan for six years, between the spring of ’78 and the early summer of ’83. I lived in five (5) small but livable apartments on Sullivan Street, West 4th Street, Bank Street (right across from HB Studios), West 76th Street near Amsterdam, and West 99th west of Broadway. I was never flush, but I was able live a spunky, flavorful, often exciting life supplanted by elite screenings, paid-for parties and occasional bar sippings, comped tickets to B’way plays, clubs and downtown club visits. I wasn’t deliriously ecstatic about everything, but I was certainly what most of us would call moderately happy. And oh, the women back then…
Life was actually pretty great at times, looking back, but a youngish journalist earning a moderate 2025 salary couldn’t possibly have fun today in NYC the way I did 40-plus years ago.