Someone sent me this article on Purple Clover written by a middle-aged woman who decided to leave the Upper West Side and buy a condo in Williamsburg for fun:
we made a Saturday morning appointment to check out a condo on the river, and the moment I walked in the bedroom and saw the view of the Williamsburg Bridge and Manhattan across the East River, I knew it was a done deal.
The day our offer was accepted, I called our son Jesse at Syracuse. “Guess what? Your father and I are buying a condo in Williamsburg — you know that building where we saw those two goth girls sitting on the sidewalk, smoking pot? We walked past it last summer on our way to Smorgasburg? We got a two-bedroom on the top floor!
Soon after buying the place, the problems started:
None of my friends would come to visit us. They weren’t up for spending 40 minutes at midnight on a platform full of drunk kids waiting for the L back to Manhattan.
Uhh yeah if you move to any neighborhood where none of your friends live they probably aren’t going to visit much. And then there’s this gem:
I found myself getting annoyed by the hipsters I once thought were so cool. I gave up trying to find a hair salon in the neighborhood. I just couldn’t bring myself to trust an inked-up stylist with purple hair.
She can’t trust someone with tattoos to cut her hair? Does she also go into the kitchen of a restaurant to make sure everyone is tat free before she eats their food? ‘IT’S OK EVERYONE WE CAN EAT HERE I CHECKED AND THEY DON’T HAVE TATTOOS.’
The final straw was when she tried to go to Brooklyn Bowl because she liked The Roots and Questlove was DJing:
It was a disaster from the start. I was wearing a short skirt that Jesse always tells me I’m too old for.
I went upstairs to the restroom and went into a bathroom stall. No sooner had I shut the door behind me when two girls walked in. “I don’t get it,” one said. “Why don’t they just stay in Park Slope with all the other stroller people, where they belong?” “If I see one more suit in my building, I’m going to throw up,” said the other. “If they’re trying to prove to the world that they’re still cool, it’s not working. I mean, last week I saw a fucking gray-haired grandma at Pete’s. Do they not know how ridiculous they look?”
I waited until they left. I practically ran out to the sidewalk and by the time I found Hank outside, I was crying. “I’m just tired,” I said. “Fed up and tired.” I was so humiliated
Ok to her credit those girls do actually sound like the worst people ever. It may come as no surprise that she promptly moved back out of the neighborhood.
So just remember, if you see a wealthy middle-aged person in Williamsburg looking upset you should probably give them a hug. They may have just seen someone with purple hair.