When I was growing up, Manhattan stood for family-owned stores that carried unique merchandise, small restaurants with inexpensive and cultural food, and creativity and individuality.
Some of my best memories of New York include the small hardware store that had every widget you could wish for, and the ease of the corner store that had milk, bread, band-aids, and laundry detergent. I used to love the walk down Broadway because there were so many unique stores. One Mothers' Day, I was desperate to find my mother something unique that she never knew she needed. I went into a store called Lion Antiques, and started browsing. The store did have antiques, but they also just had things that antique buyers might like. With a child's allowance money in hand, I knew my budget. I was hoping desperately that they had something for my mother that I could afford. After a few minutes, I found a small jewelry box with shell decorations on the exterior, and I could afford it. My mother spent many of her younger summers sailing and near the beach, so I guess that's why the jewelry box felt right. My mother was delighted and surprised at the gift, and that event sparked an interest in me for finding the right unique gift.
There was also a fantastic candy store in our neighborhood. It wasn't M&Ms or Hershey's like mid-town has now. They sold bulk amounts of gel candies, peppermint strips, button candy, and a variety of chocolate and non-chocolate candy. This store was perfect for Christmas, when we built gingerbread houses -- every door handle, roof shingle, and window frame was represented by the right shaped candy. Building a gingerbread house was an unforgettable exercise in imagination for us -- which occurred because someone had the right candy.
I love New York City the way a native does -- with its warts and all. But over the years, when I visit Manhattan, I am saddened to see that it has become a chain store borough. Where there were stores that sold the unique clothing for women or the perfect Mothers Day gift, I now see a Gap, a Banana Republic, or even a Bed, Bath & Beyond. Although my mother, who still lives there, embraces some of the convenience of having some stores like that so close by (saving her a trip to Macy's), I can't help remembering her trip to these stores for a certain sized pie tin. My mother is a master pie maker, and she has tweaked her recipes over the years to make them just right. In addition, she has learned to use a pie pan in a certain shape and size. So mom went looking for this pie pan at two of her nearby kitchen chain stores. Not surprisingly, neither of them had the tin -- and especially not surprisingly, they had the exact same pie tins.
All of this reminds me of a conversation I had with a store clerk the other day. She worked in a boutique close to me, and I was expressing my love of the store's unique clothing and how it helps me create my own look. The clerk said, "exactly ... if you want to look like everyone else, you can shop at the Gap." Manhattan used to be a place where you found boutiques like the one I use in Alexandria (VA). Today, if you find them, they don't have the youthful style they once had, they cater to wealthier women looking for their own style. And the younger crowd is stuck with the Gap.
I understand that Manhattan is an expensive borough. What I see there these days is that people like me and the stores we want are pushed into Brooklyn, Queens, and other boroughs that are a longer train ride away from where a lot of people work. The reason why this represents the Fall of Manhattan to me is that the borough is losing its soul and identity. Instead, it is becoming a home for corporate chains. I recently heard a story about a young man in his 20s searching for the city to create a new business for himself the way he just did in Alexandria. He went to NYC, and left, not finding the legendary vibrancy and creativity he always heard about. I think he went to Seattle instead. That never used to happen, but its happening now. I'm sorry, Manhattan, but you sold your soul -- and I have to say although I hate it -- I saw this happening 10 years ago when I was in law school. I even wrote a poem about it. Manhattan has fallen.
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