This time, the trust-fund hipster doofuses of Williamsburg have gone too far. My attention was directed yesterday to an article in the Observer about how people in pricy enclaves will sometimes lie and say they live in a less gentrified adjacent neighborhood. The piece starts out with this gem:

Xeniz Viray, 23, lives near Jackson Street and Graham Avenue in Williamsburg. Ms. Viray, smoking a cigarette outside of Phoebe’s Cafe on Graham Street, where she waits tables, said that her Williamsburg friends will sometimes tell people they live in Bushwick.

“I think Bushwick sounds edgier than Williamsburg,” Ms. Viray said.

Clearly, this bimbo and her friends have never actually been to Bushwick. I lived in real Bushwick, deep on the J train, for my first year and a half in New York, not because I was some great white hope of the first wave of gentrification, but because I was poor and didn’t know any better. “Edgy” it is not, nor is it especially ghetto or dangerous, at least not where I lived. I was on Bushwick Ave., on a tree-shaded block of well-tended brownstones inhabited mostly by working-class multigenerational families. The neighborhood is, however, cruelly boring and utterly lacking in basic amenities–not a decent store, bar, restaurant, or even a grocer open past 7 p.m. That was my main reason for leaving (also, my landlady was batshit crazy). I did notice a few skinny-jeans-clad hipster boys moving in across the street as I was preparing to move out, so maybe the past 18 months have brought some more “edgy” youngsters to the browner parts of town. They probably tell their friends they live in East New York, though.

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