Spiralling in the City

I went back to New York and spun out

I landed in New York City in September thirsty for hedonistic fun. After spending the summer watching my beautiful best friends marry beautiful people, I was ready to return to the city where it felt normal to be single at 28 and go out until 6 am on a Tuesday.

That was definitely the vibe last time I was in the city. It was autumn 2024, and I’d had back-to-back assignments in India and the US — a surreal reporting trip that kicked off in Delhi and wrapped in Vegas. Landing at JFK, I took the subway into the city, then tumbled into a Dunkin’ in the Lower East Side. I gulped downed a giant cold brew, ate an iced chocolate doughnut, licked my fingers, then ran deliriously between parties in Brooklyn and Queens and Manhattan for the next 24 hours. Everyone was single and fucking and getting fucked up and I thought, yes, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

This time I arrived in New York days after an article that had been in the works for months was killed, which left me feeling deflated and aimless. My single friends were out of town or engaged or in new relationships. Without my usual party friends readily available, I meandered between coffee dates and cocktail catch-ups — the type of boundaried plan that always leaves me feeling empty — and spent a copious amount of time wandering alone, jittery and existential. I thought a lot about my last relationship, which was odd, because it was a long-distance relationship with someone who lived in London. Probably it was because I’d spent so much time when I was living in New York missing him and being here again reminded me of that perpetual state of longing — and the future with him that didn’t happen.

I’m obviously cringing out while writing this because it’s embarrassing to write about being lonely — particularly being lonely in New York City — because it’s been said a gazillion times before (and people like Joan Didion and Carrie Bradshaw have said it so well). And yet… they have a point!! A city where you can drink sodas in every colour and party every day of the week does leave you feeling empty!

In Goodbye to All That, Didion writes about that feeling of being young in New York, when “nothing was irrevocable; everything was within reach” — “I could stay up all night and make mistakes, and none of it would count.” That feeling faded, obviously, and so, she left. I definitely felt that rupture this time — the feeling of time having passed, of not being 21, when everything felt new, when the future didn’t real, when nothing mattered. Being back in the city where I’d studied journalism, I was reminded of all the ways the city makes you feel empty and alive, purposeful and aimless, how it is feral and sparkly and clamorous and lonely and beautiful and I’m so glad I left.

Anyway… I did get some article ideas when I was away… I went to the Queens club BASEMENT and spotted a vape HANDBAG, which had been doing the rounds during NY Fashion Week. I wrote about the frightening next stage of the vaping revolution for The New Statesman (and also about Labubu fever). And speaking of adolescent nostalgia… Time Out asked me to investigate whether Gen Z are *actually* bad at partying — you can read what I found here.

Thank you for reading as ever. I am cringing out <3 <3