The Workbench Dispatch: 013

"The Milano Travel Journal"

Apr 17, 2025

∙ Paid

Che bene! It’s honestly been a minute since I left New York, let alone the country because of my jaw surgery last year, and as cliche as it is, it was exactly what I needed plus a little extra. Throughout this edition are scattered notes from the field, thoughts on being an American in our current time, some of the best food experiences I’ve had in a while (I’ll be sharing the names this time don’t worry), and a whole lot more. Instead of column style, think of this as direct pages from the journal (notes app). Although the classic Fake Spring in New York seemed to dupe everyone including myself, the warm weather is right around the corner, and I have something special on the way for it, better inflate those tires…

Also, I really want to say thank you so much again for not just the overwhelming support on the Phishing tees, but the continued support, feedback, sharing, and more on this newsletter. Distancing myself not just from the opportunistic brain-numbing effects, but also the unsustainable pace of the modern social media app experience has been fantastic for getting some health back to daily thoughts. Full honesty, I didn’t know if the transition here would work, or if I would be stuck in the land of flagrant engagement bait and deplorable taste forever, but the help from everyone that reads, shops, or just says they fuck with what I’m doing really gave me the reassurance I needed to keep going.

When shit gets slow, when there’s a buildup of potential energy waiting to be converted into kinetic creativity with nowhere to go, when I begin to panic, it’s nice to get those reminders. I’ve spent the last 6+ years being truly independent, doing things in my weird, unorthodox way, and sometimes it can feel like I’m floating without a life raft. I have no experience with the security and bureaucracy of agencies or “real” ad firms, or any of the ways that things supposedly “really work”, I’ve just been doing things my way, for better and worse. I’m an outsider to those worlds, and oftentimes I get treated as such. However, with the reassurances of things like this very newsletter, I’m reminded that that separation from the machine of industry is more of a blessing than a curse. These last few years, I’ve had the opportunity, the privilege, of living life as an artist. A dream I’ve had since a kid, with vignettes of what that looks like imprinted in my mind for as long as I can remember. The highs, the lows, the successes, the struggles, all necessary parts of it. In a time when so many people want to label themselves (to others) as an Artist or Creative or Writer or World Builder or any other projected signifier, I have been given the chance to truly experience those things without having to worry about announcing that I’m doing so beforehand, all because of and through the true support, the patronage so to speak, of the people that somehow found me on the crumbling online abyss and decided to stick around. When I was making jewelry from a tiny studio apartment in the Lower East Side all those years ago, blowing soldering fumes through a cracked window onto the fire escape, I could not have imagined that those ideas I had would actually work. I’m still sometimes in disbelief. Despite whatever frustrations and shitty parts, I can’t be anything but eternally thankful to do what I do.

As always, thank you for reading.

-ms <3

“The Milano Travel Journal”
Recent Pieces
Refer a friend

Refer my newsletter to some friends to unlock a few months for free and remove the paywalls on every edition, PLUS get access to the full archive!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

A Word From Our Sponsor

Coming Soon… 🚲

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

America

Sitting at my gate at JFK, I started really thinking about the country I lived in, the one I was taking a brief break from. Part of what I love about New York is it can sometimes feel separate from the rest of America, being such an international city. Despite its own problems, of which it’s not short, it often feels like a safe haven away from the (different type of) hell that the rest of the country is subjected to. The one constituted by raging tantrum regression and an angry, selfish, brain fried populous. Between ICE sweeping up innocent civilians cheered on by Oakley-clad pickup truck MAGA chuds, the dual embrace of a genocidal maniac nation overseas and an ignorant bigotry back home, the full tilt embrace of all things conspiratorial and hate, it really did feel like an opportune time to get the fuck out, if only for a little bit. With such a terrible reputation and a gnashing, vicious, deranged manchild as our poster boy, I wondered if that stigma would be stuck to me when I landed across the ocean. It’s certainly a weird time to be American.

It seems like every day in neo-America, a small set of techbrain-poisoned drones with an overwhelming amount of influence and power discover and rush out new ways for people to become more worthless and shameless than previously ever imagined. It is a terrifying attitude that has begun to cement itself into the very fabric of the country. Sometimes modern life really feels like we as Americans have quite possibly hit the final form of the experiment of our nation. Reaching the last stop dead end of hyperconsuming, violent, willfully ignorant and incompetent, grotesquely horny yet sexless adult babies screeching that the delivery servant is taking too long with their bowl meal while generating Studio Ghibli and Pixar inspired versions of images they’ve already seen and will forget tomorrow. More and more, the feeling starts to creep in that we are at the end of something. Every American industry seems to be struggling right now, spinning their wheels in place, avoiding any and all risk or creativity, trying to weather the economic storm by steadfastly doing what isn’t working. Oftentimes, it goes beyond just stagnation towards regression. The education system is getting crippled by lack of funding while simultaneously kids get less literate and more dependent on chatgpt. General thinking amongst the population has grown exponentially more limited, ignorant, and inconsiderate. The overall sense of degradation can be felt amongst giant companies, full fields of work, and most noticeably, on individuals. A “mall going out of business” haze and malaise hangs over and blankets most of social media and the rest American business, while the motor of American Capitalism sputters and stagnates, leaving a large majority of people wondering what the fuck they’re going to do. In this latest of the late stages, we have every type of commodity allegedly at our disposal, certainly in excess, while simultaneously quality declines or gets walled behind rising prices without any protesting. What we’re left with are the problems of excess (boredom, burnout, lack of interest) without actually seeing the benefits. Because there is seemingly no need to ever want, no apparent lack of something to chase, this makes our primary mode of consumption instant demand, no longer actual desire. It is no surprise then why most American behavior has adjusted to match these feelings. More often than ever we see get rich quick schemes, tantrums, antisocial rudeness, and more become the norm, because it’s all we’ve experienced for going on 10 years. Nothing but contradictions and reactions. Barking and violence. Sometimes it’s hard not to think that certain subsections of modern Americans are irredeemable or beyond saving. Brains fried from online conspiracies and fascist propaganda, stirred into a frenzy by soulless grifters, now seemingly calling the shots. Previous forms of fascist thought were dictated by ideology. Corrupt, venomous, evil, hypocritical and untrue, but still identifiable ideology. What makes this new form of cretin so grotesque and terrifying, is a distinct lack of clear ideology beyond just wailing and thrashing for vague amalgamations of nostalgia they’ve imagined in their heads. We saw this metastasize with the loser baby “anti-woke” gamer crowd in the mid 2010s, and it is very indicative that that behavior is still essentially the playbook and the vernacular nearly a decade later, just for much more severe subject matter. It is a distinctly modern, distinctly American perpetual adult adolescence that reflects the consequences of this life of false excesses.

Both figuratively and literally, leaving America, especially as it is right now, was much easier than I expected, on all accounts. I had a 10PM flight, so security was smooth, the gates were relaxed, and wouldn’t you know it, my flight was underbooked, giving me 2 economy seats to myself to get some sleep. It was almost as if the universe was telling me “Now’s your chance, get the fuck out of here!” As I nodded out to Chinatown (1974) courtesy of the headrest in-flight entertainment, I was astonished at my luck. It didn’t feel like serendipitous pleasant surprises still happened around here anymore, but who am I to take them for granted when they do.

Italy

To be honest, Milan set the tone the second I got off the plane. After hopping on the train directly from the airport to the main part of the city, I met up with a friend at a cafe, luggage still in tow, and was met with a cannoli, espresso, and glass of white wine. Talk about the start to a trip you want. After hanging outside shooting the shit with a local fashion student who gave us some places to check out, we caught a cab to the airbnb and fully began the trip. I was there to “assist” my friend with some work during Milan Design Week, but really, I was there to above all experience. Well, experience I did. From trips to gorgeous villas out in the countryside, to exploring all the city had to offer in the forms of culture, art, design, and (crucially) food, I would say I got exactly what I was looking for, and so much more, out of this trip. For the sake of time, I’ll try to condense it down into the highlights in order for you to properly understand where I’m coming from later on.

My time spent in my ancestral stomping ground was, as cliche as it is, absolutely enlightening for me. Not just the exposure to the life, the architecture, the culture of such a beautiful place, but also because it gave me clarity that the things, the experiences, the energy I knew I was looking for are in fact still out there in the world. I wasn’t going crazy. Whether fortunate or not, I received reassurance that a lot of my insecurities, my little neuroses, my inner tumult, might actually just be symptoms of the American way of life, that maybe a cure is possible. Starting every morning with a €3 cappuccino and baked good combo (TOTAL, not each) completely radicalized me on the concepts of simple pleasures and the joy in leisure (even further than I already was). I was shown that it doesn’t have to be the way I’ve grown accustomed to it being, even in a big international city.

It was frankly bittersweet finally getting the real, authentic versions of the things that seem so simple to do, the things I expend too much money and immeasurable effort to chase in America, the things that I knew were really out there to live through. Things that a large subsection of metropolitan Americans are clearly craving as well. Eating good food, drinking nice drinks, having great conversations, outside absorbing the real energy of a city without any stupid hoops to jump through or outrageous bill to foot. No external rushing or pressure to leave in order to free up space for a swarming crowd of people, no pretense, no clout chasing, no fucking bowl restaurants. Living through these vignettes felt nearly surreal. I’d been chasing these feelings for so long that I was almost overwhelmed when I finally caught them. The real fucking deal. The pace, the atmosphere, the pleasure and joy, all present in front of me in vivid colors, lived through one second at a time. But more on that later.

Highlights

In any city I go to, I’m very wary of venturing into some type of tourist trap situation, seeing how many there are in New York. Although there are some benefits to playing it safe, ultimately that’s just not my idea of a good time, especially if I’m visiting somewhere for the first time. When you’re working against the clock, every excursion counts to me. That also doesn’t mean that it always has to be something high profile. Like I said before, it’s all about the experience. What can one gain, absorb, feel fulfilled from? I’ve never been the type to seek out the comforts of home when overseas, because really what’s the point of that? Give me something I can’t get back where I’m from that I’ll never forget. Those things that will have you determined to return to that feeling they gave you weeks, months, even years down the line. Thankfully, I was traveling with a friend who was there for work, so there were ample chances for exploration, influxes of new and familiar faces, and spending time actively living.

One of my favorite stops was venturing out of town up to Varedo and the beautiful Villas Bagatti Valsecchi and Borsani respectively for presentations for Alcova at Design Week. Two alternate sides of the same gorgeous design-packed coin. On one hand at Bagatti, there were the old world sensibilities, the sprawling acreage and history, something that looked and felt like a compound right out of The Godfather. Walking around there was nothing short of humbling to be completely honest. The sweeping views from the terraces overlooking a massive lawn, the dozens of booths being set up and filled with gorgeous presentations, the fact that OPM BABI by Playboi Carti was throbbing in my airpod as I chilled and gazed out at the countryside in the distance. I found myself asking man, how the fuck did I get here? with a smile that I couldn’t shake if you paid me. I was reminded of a famous quote from an Akron born philosopher. In that moment, surrounded by beauty with the sun beaming on my face, I was really in disbelief that making rings out of a tiny studio apartment could bring me here, even if indirectly. I wasn’t flown here by a company or for some PR trip, I brought myself here with nothing but real support behind me. That was my first cry of the trip.

The other end of the villa spectrum was over at Borsani, a breathtaking modernist masterpiece with a peaceful walled garden backyard. Much smaller, but still just as captivating. If the former was an overwhelming force of history, this one was a testament to architectural vision. Every room, packed with eye grabbing furniture, flowed together seamlessly. Viewers and crew alike gliding up and down a jaw dropping wood and glass central staircase or commiserating under the shade of the trees in the back. I was humbled at the other villa, but at this one I was inspired. It completely reinvigorated my passion for what furniture and negative space could do. God I fucking miss the woodshop man. If you’re reading this and can help me get my fix, PLEASE reach out. Anyway, right near Borsani are a handful of quiet cafes, tobacco shops, and other little places to post up, so my friend and I decided to chill out and split a big beer in 2 tiny cups and shoot the shit on the sidewalk, one of the greatest European traditions ever. Sitting there in shitty plastic cafe chairs talking about life and Christopher Nolan’s The Prestige being the best “high in a dorm room” movie ever, it really makes you understand why this is such a prioritized part of life there.

Some other highlights I’d recommend are an obligatory trip to Fondazione Prada, a Rem Koolhaas designed series of gallery spaces and shows created by Patrizio Bertelli and Ms. Miuccia herself in order to support the arts and culture through commissioned work and exhibitions. The main “campus” so to speak is right across from Prada’s corporate offices, where I spent more time than I’d like to admit trying to catch Raf Simons walking down the street to say what’s up. Easily my favorite thing there was legendary new wave director Jean-Luc Godard’s former Studio d'Orphée, a recording and editing atelier he actually used and relocated from his home to be permanently installed in Milan before he passed. I was, understandably, floored being in this space. There’s something beyond intimate about standing in the workspace, the setting for creativity, of such a monumental artist. I’ve only had a similar feeling during my tour of the Judd Foundation in New York, seeing not just the creations but the specters of the routines, the creative blocks, the triumphs that I or any other artist go through firsthand of someone that I consider a master, is really enough to re-inspire vigor for why we do what we do. Feelings I try to remember when I hit my own walls or speed bumps. That was my second cry of the trip.

Additionally, there is a smaller outpost right in the central shopping district of Milan with its own separate shows, next to a Prada flagship store, the Osservatorio. There, the current show was a collection of famous scripts, storyboards, screenplays, and other BTS notes from some iconic films. Are you shitting me? I’m there. While only 2 main rooms, the collection of directors’ assets they had on display was insanely well curated. Ranging from Akira Kurosawa to Alfonso Cuarón to my GOAT big Marty, and much more. However, the obvious standout to me was the entire storyboard, from start to finish, for the legendary Demme directed Talking Heads concert film Stop Making Sense. Admittedly I had never seen these before, and seeing every step of the show mapped out with laser precision, even with some cuts and edits, gave me a whole new appreciation for something I thought I couldn’t already love any more. Bravissimo Jonathan, rest easy.

Finally, my last big recommendation, an absolute must visit, is the wonderful Cinema Beltrade in the hip NoLo district in the northeast part of the city. Nestled amongst the popping gay bars and artsy cafes running out of bike shops or libraries is one of the coolest rep theaters I’ve ever been to. One glorious, beautifully lush and well kept screen room, sick merch, and free lobby cards for some of the recent releases. A metaphor for the Italian experience overall, not too much, not too little, done with immense passion. Through some miracle, some universal alignment, it just so happened that the day after I first found it, this cinema was screening one of my all time favorite films, the profoundly moving and ever-prescient Koyaanisqatsi (1982). A documentary without any dialogue, no dubs or subs to worry about! So obviously, I had to go back the next day at 11AM, fresh off of an espresso and brioche to finally see this masterpiece on a big screen, something that I’d be hyped for if I could do in New York, let alone in fucking Milan for $7! I’ve talked about my love for Koyaanisqatsi in a previous newsletter so I’ll spare some of the synopsis, but in short, what I love about it so much is it is very rare that a film incorporates active audience contemplation into the viewing experience. It’s something that you need to think along with beyond just absorbing the imagery and sound. Being able to experience such a powerful piece of art on a giant screen with Philip Glass’ iconic score booming through the speakers in a gorgeous theater with people who didn’t even speak the same language as me was more than enough to bring in the third and final cry of the trip, hidden in the dark of the cinema. On our way out, I hit one of my fellow moviegoers with a “Che perfetto no?” and he agreed.

Food

This needed its own category to dissect to be completely honest. I knew there was going to be mind blowing food out there, but what I wasn’t expecting was how affordable it would all be. Now to be fair, I tend to try and seek out the local places rather than the higher end stuff typically, but even your average nice knife and fork cloth napkin bistro in Milan was leaps and bounds more accessible than its New York equivalent. Culturally, Italy is a fan of a multi-course meal, and the pricing of the menus reflects that. Unlike in New York where you are bound to a single item lest you want to hit a $50 bill (and lord help you if you want wine with that), nearly every place I went invited me to try multiple things, spend ample amounts of time just catching a vibe, chopping it up with fellow diners or the staff, and plenty of smoking and sipping. The psychological butterfly effect of this was not lost on me. Affordable prices and no timer for your meal lowers the barrier of entry for it, and in turn the “risk” or “pressure” to have a good time or make it feel worth it. As a result, it’s a great time nearly every time. Spirits are high, drinks are flowing, conversations booming on the sidewalk, they really do prioritize kicking back. Now to be fair there were some duds in there, but I’d chalk those up to jet lag and getting desperate out of hunger one night. Outside of those outliers, if you know where to look or what to look for, it is very easy to find a fantastic meal. All you have to do is just follow the great vibes and they will find you.

Easily my favorite spot on the trip was Cooperativa La Liberazione, a leftist multi-use co-op library, cafe, and bar tucked underneath the University District on the east side of the city. When I first arrived in Milan, I was asking around where the young, cool, smart people hung out, because I knew the quickest way to enjoy the city would be to go there. I was led here, and holy shit was it exactly what I had been looking for. Not just in Italy, but back home as well. A cozy, warmly lit spot full of portraits of revolutionaries, anti-fascist posters, and literal stacks of books that are free to borrow while you eat your meal. The first time we tried to go, it was late night small bites and drinks time, aka the Italian Happy Hour, and the place was swamped. People of all ages spilling out all over the sidewalk, the ambient rhythm of glasses and bottles clinking in the background accenting the low buzzing hum of dozens of rich, lively conversations. Unfortunately for us though, they were beyond capacity and didn’t really have the space for a full on meal at the moment. To be fair it was on us for getting there at 9PM but hey, get it how you live. I had some time alone for lunch a day or two later, so I knew exactly where I was returning to. The vibes for lunch were a lot more quiet and relaxed. A moderate assortment of people reading, smoking, eating, drinking at the tables peppering the sidewalk out front, or chilling inside. This time thankfully I was able to get myself a table. All the food on the menu looked fantastic, and honestly going back to try the rest of it feels like justification enough for another trip. The prices once again jumped out to me. Low cost, low risk of accidentally ordering the “wrong” thing and feeling like you wasted a meal. I wound up going with a classic (staggeringly portioned) penne with beef ragu and pecorino for my first plate, along with some brut sparking wine, because why not? As expected, a simple dish done well is a home run every single time. Fantastic pasta with a truly rich sauce that had me wiping the plate with bread after, washed down by a great wine. It’s really hard to get better than that, but if you can believe it, it did. My main entrée was exactly the type of thing I had been looking for, or what I’m always looking for really, something unique that I hadn’t tried before and wouldn’t know where to get back home. That came in the form of tomato stewed veal liver served over a creamy potato purée. I was absolutely fucking floored by this plate. The dense, complicated flavors of the meticulously slow cooked, buttery soft liver, the bite of the tomato cutting through any harshness of the meat, and cumulonimbus clouds of potato to bring it all together. So fucking simple, so home-y, just an all around perfect meal. Made even better by the fact that the entire thing, both courses and a glass of wine, came out to around $19 TOTAL. When it comes to a great time, a great meal, great vibes, this leftist cafe may have fully radicalized me.

For the sake of time, I’ll provide one more fantastic spot to check out if you’re ever in the area. One night while shuffling back hungry from an admittedly only okay pretty hectic dive bar, we happened across a modest wine bar sitting on a quiet corner right in the heart of the university district Città Studi called Spargolo. We decided to check it out to see if they had some food, and maybe grab one last glass of wine for the night. I am so thankful that we did. Right from the jump I knew this was the exact type of place I look for everywhere. Chill layout and decor, ample sidewalk seating out front, a lineup of delicious looking small bites ready to go, and great music. What only reassured me further that we had found a perfect spot was the manager, who when we asked for 2 glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, promptly replied “You don’t want that SHIT, I got something better!” I’m so locked in man. After bringing us 2 glasses of something that was in fact much better (completely forgot the name, you have to understand), we put in an order for a couple of insane looking tartare mini burgers. I have to say, that tartare might have been the single best bite of food I had on this trip. Fresh cucumber with a little hint of horseradish and some other ingredients I couldn’t even place because I was too busy fucking inhaling it. At that point it was unspoken, but we were going to be there for a minute. 2 more tartare burgers, 2 more glasses of wine, until eventually we were the last ones left chilling outside. After learning we were from New York, our new friend put on some Jay-Z on the speakers, pulled up a chair brandishing some gin and tonics (on the house), and we all closed the place out talking about about New York, traveling, arguing with girlfriends, and all the rest. We obviously had to return at least 2 more times on the trip. It really was all I could ever ask for from a spot like that, an absolute watering hole. Great drinks, great food, great vibes, great conversation, the only downside is it’s there and not here.

Home

This trip really was an extremely informative and enlightening one to say the least. I learned that yes, the things I search for are still out there waiting to be discovered. The vignettes I have in my head of a great time can still become reality, despite the fatigue and the cynicism brought on by prolonged exposure to America. On my last night, it brought me a lot of inner turmoil to realize that although I really do have endless love for the city of New York, it is unfortunately not immune to the plagues and symptoms of America, sometimes even being a concentrated version of them. 20+ years of transplants forcing the city to buckle to their ways of life instead of embracing an existing, tangible culture have forever altered the city I grew up alongside. For the first time in my life, New York has started to feel more like America than ever before. Soon I would return to the land of the $16 cocktail, the $15 small bite, the desperate scenesters clambering over one another for a prime IG story backdrop in a cramped subsection of designated Cool real estate sandwiched between the Chase Banks and the Blank Street Coffees. Back to the overpriced simulated version of this organic thing I now know with certainty is attainable.

I think the big difference between these two cultural hubs of cities is the respective countries they find themselves in. It was a stark contrast between the high-powered, concentrated, still very sore modern history of America versus a place that has had millennia to slowly craft what a “culture” is. Ways of life that seem like they’ve simply always been. A world to pull from for any endeavor, be it design, art, food, or more that feels equal parts modern and ancient. America, sometimes for better, often for worse, is subject to the hyperactivity and instability of its comparative youth. The scars of its cruel and vicious history haven’t been given time to heal, often being neglected and ignored, left to fester untreated. It felt equal parts odd and and refreshing to be in a place with such a defined skeleton, not reliant on synthesizing ways of life from reactive events like the Botox superficiality of modern America. Even things like architecture told the story of the two countries. Over there, you could feel the history in the façades and structures, while simultaneously seeing the modernity surrounding them hand-in-hand. Anti-fascist and “never again” sentiments scrawled on the walls in graffiti. It was a place that felt comfortable in its own skin.

In New York however, again its vulnerabilities and ties to America still show. The classic look of it is more abandoned, covered up, or priced out of existence to the average person by the day. Replaced instead by corporate smoothness. The a-historic soulless modern “white box” design that offers nothing back to you in return, ready to be quickly fitted with the next startup business in a few months’ time. Maybe that in itself is a metaphor for the modern life of the American Renter, the Gig Economist, the Line Waiter. It was a breath of fresh air (partially literally) not worrying about so much, or rather, not needing to. No lithium leeched lettuce or bird flu eggs, no outrageous prices, no toxic artificial dyes, no shortages and recalls from grossly mismanaged and shoddy infrastructure, just life. Just as a personal testament, I nearly exclusively ate pastries, pasta, and sandwiches for every meal for a week straight and left with abs! Somehow in better shape than when I arrived! It really made me wonder, what the fuck are we eating back home? It made me realize that unburdened feeling, that sense of stability, that’s what a properly functioning society feels like. That’s what humanity feels like. It’s hard not to believe that our relationship to America is an abusive one, one without agency or say in the matter anymore. Being constantly whipped around into a frenzy both physically and psychologically by constant toxic media and dizzying degradation, and then being scolded when we voice our frustrations. It’s hard not to feel discouraged seeing what’s possible elsewhere. What I’ve been desperately chasing. What we seem to be starving ourselves of through our willful ignorance, our weaponized incompetence, our embraced carelessness, or our encouraged selfishness.

I think the main difference that stuck out to me was how leisure was treated there versus here. I witnessed firsthand the effects of a culture that treats real leisure as a right, not a luxury. Every day around 3PM, most businesses close for 2 hours for essentially a siesta, which nearly everyone abides by. Time that is distinctly yours to relax with. Under our distinctly American neo-capitalism, our leisure is slimmed down by the day, relegated later and later into the night, simultaneously mutating into its own form of labor in itself. Our leisure is binge watching shows, consuming content, driving the machines of various industries further. Our leisure is curating a personal brand, waiting in line, visiting corporate sponsored activations, strategically posting about how you supposedly relax. It’s valued not as a fundamental and crucial part of humanity but rather another thing that we can exploit for our or others’ gain. Even in our supposed off time, American leisure entails work. Compare that to the leisure I encountered overseas, one that prioritized passive contemplation, taking time to let your mind wander quietly over a cup of espresso, or talking with friends over drinks and just enjoying the atmosphere around you without worrying how to profit off of it, because it will be there tomorrow. It’s no wonder there has been so much discourse around creating third spaces and the gradual withering of Hanging Out in America, because we seem to be forgetting how. Years and years of commodifying our free time has made us forget what the point of it really is. Maybe we could all use some refresher lessons on how to chill.

Is there still fun to be had in New York, in America? Sure. Maybe. Probably. Right? I mean who knows at this point, we might not have an economy soon. It was honestly surreal being miles and miles removed from an economic crash, what appears to be the drawn out ominous croak of affordable, spontaneous, actual fun back where I’m from. The cafes and bistros and healthy atmosphere felt like a dream to be shaken out of when trying to find it back home. I just hope that with these experiences I have now forever locked in the memory vault, I can use them to seek out what I’m looking for in America, despite how hard it may seem. Through all the overpriced lackluster synthetic versions of what I crave, I can’t let myself believe that the real thing is not somewhere out there closer to home. Maybe the limitations of a floundering economy will offer new innovations I haven’t considered yet, maybe it will be the final nail in the coffin, we can only hope for the best and find out. Don’t get me wrong though, I still love my home city with all my heart, it’s just kind of a shame it happens to be in the country it is.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘