Project | Snark and the City
Client | New York Natives
A regular column written for the New York-centric, culture and lifestyle online magazine NewYorkNatives.com. In addition, I was also the website's managing editor, social media manager, and occasional on-camera talent.
Snark and the City: Truths I Learned From Yoga with Biggie
Originally published on New York Natives
Originally published on New York Natives
I’m a casual yoga-goer at best. In fact, I could probably count the number of times I’ve taken a yoga class on one hand…two, tops. For the most part, it’s always been a lot like working out or green tea – sounds great in theory, but just can’t seem to get it going in practice.
Recently, however, I took a class at Y7 Studio’s Flatiron location; specifically, their “Hip-Hop Wednesday” vinyasa. That’s right – I got my yoga (and sweat) on to the dulcet tones of Biggie and Tupac amid the soft glow of candlelight and heat lamps. Since yoga is both a physical and mental practice, the class is said to help, “deepen the connection of mind and body.”
Here’s what I learned:
Hip-Hop and Yoga Go Together
I’ll be honest: I was a little skeptical when I was first invited to go “flowin’ with the omies.” In my mind, yoga was always done to elevator music and water sounds, so I didn’t quite understand how “flowing to a soundtrack of Biggie vs. Tupac” was going to pan out.
I was pleasantly surprised to find out it totally works. Y7 is a different kind of yoga, fusing heat, hip-hop, and candlelight into a more energized, yet no less peaceful, practice. I found the “bump” a welcome companion, pushing me to dig deeper into the experience. Forget Enya – I’m listening to LL Cool J, instead.
I’m Not Flexible
And I don’t just mean in the “haha, most guys aren’t flexible” kind of way (this particular evening was a men only “Boyz Night” class). I wasn’t under any pretenses that I had the mobility to perform advanced yoga poses, but this was embarrassing.
At one point, after being given three alternative poses of decreasing flexibility requirement, I think the instructor realized it was a lost cause, and my forward wasn’t going to get anywhere near my knee. Thanks for trying, Nick.
Yoga in the Dark is Liberating
While we’re on the subject of my being “yoga-ly challenged,” it’s worth noting that practicing yoga in a barely lit room really helped put me at ease with my utter lack of ability.
With candles providing just enough light to follow along with the instructor, it was easy to forget just how poorly I was doing in my attempts at Crow Pose. Once I stopped worrying about feeling self-conscious, I was able to immerse myself in the experience more fully. Think of it like flirting with someone at a bar…it’s all fun and games until they turn the lights on at last call; enjoy the dim lighting.
Maybe I Should be Meditating
As an admitted skeptic, I’ve never fully bought in to the notion of meditating and the “spiritual” experience of yoga. And while a single yoga class hasn’t changed my mind, it certainly warmed me up (literally) to the idea. It’s like having peanut butter on a hamburger for the first time – you don’t really believe how good it is until you experience it firsthand.
I arrived to class feeling a bit stressed and anxious with a mental “to do” list a mile long – standard operating procedure for most people that live in NYC. I left feeling calmer and breathing deeper, and perhaps with a little more perspective on the tasks at hand. I woke up the next morning expecting to feel sore and exhausted, but to my surprise, felt rejuvenated and rested. Maybe I’ll give meditating to Missy Elliot a shot.
Hot Yoga Means Hot Yoga
Seriously. I’m from the South. I know what heat and humidity feel like. I know what it means to sweat. And as most New Yorkers can attest, there’s a special brand of swampy that only a subway station in August can create.
That being said, I honestly don’t remember the last time I’ve sweated so profusely – I felt like Cher Horowitz before a driving test. Y7 says their approach to yoga “fuses heat, beat bumping hip-hop music and candlelight.” My sweat-drenched towel and I respectfully contend that “heat” is an understatement. Then again, the phrases “We Flow Hard” and “A Tribe Called Sweat” are prevalently displayed throughout. And while I did feel better for all my profuse sweating in the end, a lukewarm bottle of Fiji Water never tasted so sweet.
So there you have it – a non-yogi’s take on one of NYC’s newest approaches to yoga. Not only did I make it out alive, but even a little better off.
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Snark and the City: What a Year in NYC has Taught Me
Originally published on New York Natives
Originally published on New York Natives
Not too long ago, the anniversary of my move to New York came and went without much fanfare – unsurprising in a City this chaotic and energetic. When I finally did take a moment to think about all that’s happened over the last year or so – moving with nothing but a couple of suitcases, going to my first New York Fashion Week, and running the obstacle course that is renting an apartment in Manhattan – I thought about some of the things I’ve learned:
Subway Truths
I’ll be honest – the prospect of learning how to navigate the convoluted New York subway system had me pretty nervous. Most of my early weeks of commuting involved me clutching my iPhone like a life preserver with Google Maps open, praying I was headed in the right direction.
The three essential takeaways I’ve gleaned are these. First, though it’s been said many times, beware the empty car on an otherwise crowded train – it really is empty for a reason (and that reason is not your good fortune). Secondly, over half the battle in navigating the subway is just knowing which trains are going uptown and which are going downtown. And finally, despite the MTA’s campaign, mass transit etiquette is lost on the majority of subway patrons.
The three essential takeaways I’ve gleaned are these. First, though it’s been said many times, beware the empty car on an otherwise crowded train – it really is empty for a reason (and that reason is not your good fortune). Secondly, over half the battle in navigating the subway is just knowing which trains are going uptown and which are going downtown. And finally, despite the MTA’s campaign, mass transit etiquette is lost on the majority of subway patrons.
Southern Charm
Given the several Southern-themed establishments I’ve encountered since moving to NYC – and I use the term “Southern” very loosely here…Timberlake, I’m looking at you – it’s no great shock that being a New Orleans transplant garners largely favorable reactions.
Those who’ve been immediately start telling the story of their visit and that they can’t wait to go back. The uninitiated just have questions, and speak of New Orleans with an implied (and deserved) mystique – like Atlantis. Or Narnia.
“Bless your heart” is the clear winner among popular Southern colloquialisms, and for perspective, the way people from New Orleans feel about Bourbon Street is roughly the same as native New Yorkers feel about Times Square, and no, it isn’t “all Mardi Gras all the time”…except when it is.
Those who’ve been immediately start telling the story of their visit and that they can’t wait to go back. The uninitiated just have questions, and speak of New Orleans with an implied (and deserved) mystique – like Atlantis. Or Narnia.
“Bless your heart” is the clear winner among popular Southern colloquialisms, and for perspective, the way people from New Orleans feel about Bourbon Street is roughly the same as native New Yorkers feel about Times Square, and no, it isn’t “all Mardi Gras all the time”…except when it is.
Assume You’re in the Way
One of my favorite things about living in New York is that walking quickly isn’t frowned upon; in fact, it’s encouraged. It doesn’t matter if they’re late for a job interview, or going to a bodega for Cheetos, New Yorkers are in a hurry.
For this reason, I think one’s best bet is to always just assume you’re in someone’s way. Stopping suddenly, erratic direction changes, and “walking wide” (seriously, it’s a thing) are all highly discouraged – be it a sidewalk, a Starbucks, or the lobby of your building – because inevitably, someone’s coming up behind you and they’re most likely in a hurry.
For this reason, I think one’s best bet is to always just assume you’re in someone’s way. Stopping suddenly, erratic direction changes, and “walking wide” (seriously, it’s a thing) are all highly discouraged – be it a sidewalk, a Starbucks, or the lobby of your building – because inevitably, someone’s coming up behind you and they’re most likely in a hurry.
Maybe I Should be Meditating
As an admitted skeptic, I’ve never fully bought in to the notion of meditating and the “spiritual” experience of yoga. And while a single yoga class hasn’t changed my mind, it certainly warmed me up (literally) to the idea. It’s like having peanut butter on a hamburger for the first time – you don’t really believe how good it is until you experience it firsthand.
I arrived to class feeling a bit stressed and anxious with a mental “to do” list a mile long – standard operating procedure for most people that live in NYC. I left feeling calmer and breathing deeper, and perhaps with a little more perspective on the tasks at hand. I woke up the next morning expecting to feel sore and exhausted, but to my surprise, felt rejuvenated and rested. Maybe I’ll give meditating to Missy Elliot a shot.
There Doesn’t Need to Be a Reason for Traffic
This is a very straightforward lesson. “It’s a Thursday, roughly 8:30 p.m., and the weather is pleasant. Surely I’ll have no trouble hailing a cab and getting to my destination in a timely manner.” Wrong
Morning rush hour, Sunday morning, or an unassuming Thursday evening: there will be traffic, it will make you late, and there’s only about a 60 percent chance that there will even be an obvious explanation, like a breakdown, a fender bender, construction, or a Kardashian sighting.
Morning rush hour, Sunday morning, or an unassuming Thursday evening: there will be traffic, it will make you late, and there’s only about a 60 percent chance that there will even be an obvious explanation, like a breakdown, a fender bender, construction, or a Kardashian sighting.
There’s Nowhere I’d Rather Be
Perhaps the biggest truth of them all is that I’ve realized there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. It’s an empowering feeling, knowing you are where and when you are supposed to be, and it’s a sensation I hope everyone can achieve if they haven’t already.
For me, New York City is a lot like Sia’s singing voice (stay with me!) – much of its beauty lies in the perfect imperfections. New York is flawed. New York City is expensive, loud, and crowded. New York City has summers that are swelteringly hot and winters that are unbelievably frigid. New York City is stubborn and at times unforgiving.
New York City is, for the foreseeable future, my home. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
For me, New York City is a lot like Sia’s singing voice (stay with me!) – much of its beauty lies in the perfect imperfections. New York is flawed. New York City is expensive, loud, and crowded. New York City has summers that are swelteringly hot and winters that are unbelievably frigid. New York City is stubborn and at times unforgiving.
New York City is, for the foreseeable future, my home. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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Snark and the City: I Shouldn’t Be Allowed to Watch HGTV Anymore
The only problem with this is that I live in New York City, the land of sky-high rent, tiny, run-down apartments, and shady landlords. Because of this, I’ve come to the conclusion that for my own mental health, perhaps I should be allowed to watch HGTV anymore. Here’s why:
Originally published on New York Natives
Most people have some sort of default white noise around the house – just something to have in the background while you go about your business. Some people put on music, while others (allegedly) enjoy talk radio. For me, it’s long been HGTV.The only problem with this is that I live in New York City, the land of sky-high rent, tiny, run-down apartments, and shady landlords. Because of this, I’ve come to the conclusion that for my own mental health, perhaps I should be allowed to watch HGTV anymore. Here’s why:
Square Footage Reality Check
Culprit: House Hunters
We all know the space is at a premium in the City, especially Manhattan. If your apartment can accommodate both a table for four and a love seat, as far as I’m concerned, you’re ahead of the game.
But nothing throws this into such sharp relief as a few episodes of House Hunters (and House Hunters International), watching people all over the world shopping around for their new digs. “We’re moving from the states to Italy so I can teach English and sell my crappy jewelry, so I’ll need a room to use as my work space. And another room just for flamenco dancing.” Really? I’d just like to have enough space to get all the way around my bed when I’m trying to put on a fitted sheet.
Culprit: House Hunters
We all know the space is at a premium in the City, especially Manhattan. If your apartment can accommodate both a table for four and a love seat, as far as I’m concerned, you’re ahead of the game.
But nothing throws this into such sharp relief as a few episodes of House Hunters (and House Hunters International), watching people all over the world shopping around for their new digs. “We’re moving from the states to Italy so I can teach English and sell my crappy jewelry, so I’ll need a room to use as my work space. And another room just for flamenco dancing.” Really? I’d just like to have enough space to get all the way around my bed when I’m trying to put on a fitted sheet.
Cost of Living Sticker Shock
Culprit: Fixer Upper
As I mentioned, the cost of living – for real estate in particular – is another reality of life in NYC. And while the pros certainly outweigh the cons, the truth of it is, when it comes to housing, so much never got you so little.
If, like me, you want to pour a little salt on the wound, watch a couple episodes of Fixer Upper, and witness nauseatingly adorable husband and wife duo Chip and Joanna Gaines. Sure, the people on this show are primarily buying property in the rural areas surrounded Waco, Texas. But there’s still something gut wrenching about seeing someone purchase a top to bottom remodeled home for about what it costs for an Audi R8.
Kitchen Envy
Culprit: Flip or Flop
Growing up, my grandmother’s massive kitchen was always the epicenter of our family gatherings. By contrast, the kitchen in the first place I lived in the City featured an electric burner, a small sink, a mini fridge, and a microwave. The second, while boasting a full-sized refrigerator, had a permanently broken oven, and using the microwave for more than 2 minutes at a time resulted in a tripped circuit breaker (looking at you, Stouffer’s Single Serving Lasagna with Meat & Sauce). Frustrating, to say the least.
Enter Flip or Flop, where foreclosed Southern California homes and their “disgusting” kitchens (read: average “affordable” NYC rental’s kitchen) receive a gut job renovation, complete with a shiny, new granite-clad kitchen – that dingy walk up has never looked so…brown.
Buying a Renovation Property
Culprit: Property Brothers
Nothing fires up my desire to buy a decrepit “diamond in the rough” property and pour my blood, sweat, tears, and Pinterest inspiration boards into it. Upon completion, some chic magazine will undoubtedly want to do a feature on it, starring yours truly, my charming spouse, and our adorable bulldog, Walter (spoiler alert: I don’t have a spouse, and we don’t have a pet).
Let’s face the facts: only about a quarter of the people living in New York City own their home. The majority of us rent, and will probably continue to rent for as long as we live in the City. And with that comes the inevitable acceptance that I will probably never get to live out my delusional renovation fantasy. Cest la vie.
Unrealistic Homeowner Expectations
Culprit: Love It or List It
It doesn’t take long after moving to New York City to receive a very real and bracing reality check when it comes housing expectations (I blame the movies{link}). Dreams of a spacious, impeccably furnished loft apartment with an amiable doorman and an in-unit washer & dryer are replaced by more realistic expectations. For example, now I simply expect hot water, friendly mice, and a door intercom system that works more often than not.
But all it takes is one episode of Love It or List It to set my blood boiling. You’ve been living in a disastrous multi-level semi-detached home for 10+ years and haven’t done a thing about it? Strike one. You want a gourmet kitchen, an in-law suite/rec space in the basement, and an open concept main floor on a six-week timeline with your “generous” budget of only $50,000? Strike two. You don’t understand why Hilary can’t “find it in the budget” to renovate all three of your ugly bathrooms after discovering your home is full of knob and tube wiring, house a foundation problem, a busted radiator, and a roof on the verge of collapse? Strike three. I’m pumped that my building has a trash chute.
At the end of the day, I’d rather struggle in New York than have it easy anywhere else. That being said, I should probably cancel my subscription to HGTV Magazine while I’m at it.
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5 Lies That the Movies Told Me About Life NYC
Originally published on New York Natives
Originally published on New York Natives
Disclaimer: I really could have just titled this article, “I Have Terrible Taste in Movies,” so bear with me. That being said, I, like many transplants, was seeing New York City portrayed on film long before I ever lived here…and frankly, those films are bereft with inaccuracies and misrepresentations.
In short, movies lied to me about life in New York City:
1. Apartments
Culprits: Friends With Benefits, 27 Dresses
As you might expect, one of the most jarring realizations came in the sobering form of New York City real estate. Sure, everyone knows that an apartment in the City is among the most expensive in the country, however, the reality is that you don’t even get much bang for your considerable buck.
Justin Timberlake’s character in Friends With Benefits takes a job at GQ and is seemingly provided with a fully-furnished palace of an apartment, complete with gourmet kitchen. Condé Nast might have just moved into their sweet new digs at 1 World Trade Center, but I’m pretty sure they aren’t handing out the same to all their employees. Katherine Heigl’s character in 27 Dresses is a glorified personal assistant, yet somehow has a charming and spacious one-bedroom apartment, complete with a hall closet big enough to house all those dresses? Doubt it.
2. Dating
Culprits: Maid In Manhattan, Just My Luck, Sweet Home Alabama
Spoiler alert: Attempting to have an intentional accidental encounter with every handsome guy (or pretty lady) you come across while working your crappy service industry job won’t find you love…just bad tips. And that whole “locking eyes from across a crowded room” thing is bull.
And Sweet Home Alabama’s story of a Southerner moving to the North, reinventing herself, and getting engaged to a wealthy man (complete with a Tiffany’s moment)? Well, that letdown hits a little too close to home (though I would like to reiterate that I am NOT from Alabama).
3. Commuting
Culprits: Center Stage, The Devil Wears Prada
Contrary to what these movies would have you believe, traipsing through the City on your way to work or school is not a “cute” endeavor. Dancers don’t float on and off the bus, looking distracted yet elegant while they chase their dreams all the way to Lincoln Center.
Commuting is also not the time to showcase your outfit while you listen to a Natasha Bedingfield song and adorably dash between cabs, a la The Devil Wears Prada. Between the rain, snow, crowds of people, haphazard bikers, and general filth, well, let’s just say there’s a reason it’s not uncommon to see women wearing running shoes with their pencil skirts, and carrying their Jimmy Choos to the office. You might wanna rethink that white overcoat, Anne.1></div>
4. Bars
Culprits: The Other Woman, That Awkward Moment
The chances of you walking into a bar and finding an empty table or enough seats at the bar? Slim. The chances of getting a drink as soon as you walk up to the bar? Slimmer. The chances of casually strolling into a busy bar that’s crowded — but not too crowded — and finding a place for you and all your friends to sit, while being able to hold a conversation without having to shout at one another over the latest remix of “Fancy?” No. And you can forget trying to flirt. Just go home.
5. Shopping
Culprits: Coyote Ugly, Enchanted
Note to self: Dressing room montages are not a thing. There will be no Coyote Ugly saloon door makeover scene. And even if there were, it would be a logistical nightmare. There’s always a line, you can only bring in so many items, and no one has the patience to watch you do funny dance moves in front of the mirror in a funky jacket, kooky sunglasses, and a zany hat. And the 15+ adorable multicolored shopping bags you have draped over your arms as you flounce down the street from store to store? Wrong.
It’s hard enough navigating your way through the crowded sidewalks with a bag from Just Salad…and by “a bag from Just Salad,” I of course mean, “a dollar slice.”
What a web of lies.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be watching Shakespeare in Love.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be watching Shakespeare in Love.
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My Guilty Pleasure Throwback Songs of the Early 2000s
Originally published on New York Natives
Originally published on New York Natives
…because who doesn’t love a throwback?
It is the humble opinion of this writer that the late ‘90s and early 2000s were the pinnacle of unapologetically awful, and thereby, completely amazing, guilty pleasure pop music. Yes, the good old days of illegally downloading music on LimeWire and burning a mix CD to enjoy in your Discman.
The technology has changed, but there’s still no feeling quite like strutting down Madison Avenue to your favorite song (that you wouldn’t be caught dead owning up to) blasting through your earbuds.
And of course, this is by no means a definitive list — because really, this list could go on and on. Instead, I’ve decided to forgo the obvious, though no less deserving, candidates of pop-tastic royalty like Mandy Moore, Jessica (and Ashlee) Simpson, Avril Lavigne, and the Spice Girls for some that are more often overlooked. Let this be your starter kit to building that perfect nostalgic playlist to take to Sheep’s Meadow for a picnic brunch.
I submit to you, without further adieu, my Sorry-Not-Sorry-Pop-Starlet-Guilty-Pleasure-Early-2000s-Oh-Yeah-I-Remember-That-Song List:
1. “I Wanna Be Bad” by Willa Ford
Look closely and you can’t help but notice the foreshadowing: duck face, white girl twerking, and Auto-Tune-baby-voice all make appearances in this first selection.
If Aubrey O’Day were somehow to be crossed with Ke$ha (yes, before she dropped the “$”) and smothered in highlights, a spray tan, booty shorts, and everything else that cliché upper-middle-class white girls think will make their fathers weep while going through the rebellious phase, the results would look a lot like the video for Willa Ford’s “bad girl” anthem, “I Wanna Be Bad.” Because nothing says, “I don’t give a f*ck” like showing up to “da club” on a motorcycle while rocking side boob and a nose ring. Take that, dad.
If Aubrey O’Day were somehow to be crossed with Ke$ha (yes, before she dropped the “$”) and smothered in highlights, a spray tan, booty shorts, and everything else that cliché upper-middle-class white girls think will make their fathers weep while going through the rebellious phase, the results would look a lot like the video for Willa Ford’s “bad girl” anthem, “I Wanna Be Bad.” Because nothing says, “I don’t give a f*ck” like showing up to “da club” on a motorcycle while rocking side boob and a nose ring. Take that, dad.
2. “Hit ‘Em Up Style (Oops!)” by Blu Cantrell
Years before Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable,” jilted lovers turned to one Blu Cantrell for advice in dealing with an unfaithful partner.
While technically classified as R&B, no cringe-worthy throwback playlist is complete without “Hit ‘Em Up Style.” Besides, if there’s one thing I can relate to, it’s buying (more specifically, eating) my feelings.
While technically classified as R&B, no cringe-worthy throwback playlist is complete without “Hit ‘Em Up Style.” Besides, if there’s one thing I can relate to, it’s buying (more specifically, eating) my feelings.
3. “He Loves U Not” by Dream
Diddy may have created Danity Kane, but it was Puff Daddy that was responsible for what is perhaps the most wonderfully obnoxious girl group bubble gum pop explosion of all time: Dream.
Featuring Auto-Tune-baby-voice’s cousin, Auto-Tune-sexy-whisper-voice, Dream’s “He Loves U Not” is essentially a Frankenstein-esque mix of every pop music act of the day that we loved to hate — S Club 7, A-Teens, 3LW, Nobody’s Angel, and B*Witched — dipped in pink and covered in rhinestones and too much eye shadow. Think of Dream as the Times Square of 2000s girl groups – over-sexed, over-wrought, and trying way too hard.
But much like the Poo-Chi, it may not have made much sense, but it sure was catchy.
Featuring Auto-Tune-baby-voice’s cousin, Auto-Tune-sexy-whisper-voice, Dream’s “He Loves U Not” is essentially a Frankenstein-esque mix of every pop music act of the day that we loved to hate — S Club 7, A-Teens, 3LW, Nobody’s Angel, and B*Witched — dipped in pink and covered in rhinestones and too much eye shadow. Think of Dream as the Times Square of 2000s girl groups – over-sexed, over-wrought, and trying way too hard.
But much like the Poo-Chi, it may not have made much sense, but it sure was catchy.
4. “(There’s Gotta Be) More to Life” by Stacie Orrico
The video for Stacie Orrico’s “(There’s Gotta Be) More to Life” runs rampant with more over-acting, wig changes, and various minimum wage jobs than one by Britney Spears, but will always hold a special place in my heart.
“(There’s Gotta Be) More to Life” was one of my go-to post-exam jams, and even to this day, there are few throwback songs better for motivating you to climb the endless flights of stairs to your fifth-floor walk-up. And that key change two minutes in? Let go and let Stacie.
“(There’s Gotta Be) More to Life” was one of my go-to post-exam jams, and even to this day, there are few throwback songs better for motivating you to climb the endless flights of stairs to your fifth-floor walk-up. And that key change two minutes in? Let go and let Stacie.
5. “Gotta Tell You” by Samantha Mumba
Perhaps the most obscure to make the list, Samantha Mumba might be my favorite of the freshly new millennium’s guilty pleasure offerings. To quote SNL’s Stefan, “it has everything.” Teen pop, faux R&B pop, dance pop, and even gospel pop…you name it; Mumba offered more varieties of pop than Coca-Cola.
If a bare midriff-ed, half-Zambian, half-Irish pop star strutting and smizing for her life is wrong, then I “Gotta Tell You,” I don’t wanna be right.
If a bare midriff-ed, half-Zambian, half-Irish pop star strutting and smizing for her life is wrong, then I “Gotta Tell You,” I don’t wanna be right.
Well, folks, there you have it – some of my favorite guilty pleasure songs of the early 2000s. And as a connoisseur of bad pop music, I’m always open to suggestions to add to my playlist, so feel free to leave them in the comments below…or just tell me in person if you see me humming Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles” to myself on the E train.
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