FLORIDIAN GIRL ROMANTICIZES WINTER IN NEW YORK

by Catherine Trouillot

I was under the impression that December in New York would be magical. Like those Pinterest boards that make you believe everyone in this city lives in a sun-exposed brick apartment, with a curated mix of vintage furniture, and can order a latte just by staring at one. To demonstrate, I’ve written an excerpt from what I expected a typical day here would be:

Monday morning. It’s snowing in New York, and everything feels cozy, like a scene from Love Actually. I leave to go do some studying and stop by the Rockefeller tree, which, naturally, is only surrounded by a few people. I stand there and gaze at it until my coffee is finished. A snowflake falls on my nose, and I giggle. How silly!

On my way out, I bump into a massive wall, nearly falling into the street. Did I mention I’m wearing a leather mini skirt and knee-high boots with an oversized sweater (I’m not cold at all)? Surprise! The massive “wall” isn’t a wall at all, but the rock-hard abs of a 6’4 man. He has facial hair that’s just the right level of rugged but well-kept, and his outfit screams “I make six figures, but I’m not a finance bro.” He’s the kind of man who owns a vintage record player and a dog named Atlas (his dog carries the weight of the world).

Naturally, he apologizes for nearly knocking me over. He’s so polite, explaining how he didn’t see me there (I’m so very small). As our eyes meet, I feel the electricity between us—like actual sparks. He tells me I’m beautiful in a way that doesn’t sound rehearsed, then adds, “I saw you reading alone at the Rockefeller tree and I just knew you were different.” How unexpected! (I’m very unique.) “Can I take you out to dinner?” he asks. (I’ve already been on three dates this week and it’s only Monday, but I’ll make an exception because maybe this one will be different.)

Then I stroll off to a quaint little café (L’Ami Pierre) to ‘get some work done.’ And by ‘work,’ I mean spending a solid 30 minutes scrolling through TikTok with my email open before heading to an overpriced restaurant for lunch where the only thing I’ll remember is the bill. (I’m drowning in money.) Afterward, oh look at that—I still have time for pilates. (I have an unlimited membership.)

By the time I leave pilates, it’s only 5 PM, and it’s still so sunny out— I’m practically a morning person. So I head home, pour myself a glass of wine, make a pasta dinner for one, and get into bed by 9 PM. Also, my mom walks into my room to tell me to pack my things because she’s sold me to One Direction.

My point is I romanticized moving here a smidge. It’s currently 3 PM, and I’m sitting on my couch, feeling a bit guilty about the purchase I made this morning; I bought a light on Amazon that’s supposed to mimic natural sunlight. It was $40. I genuinely feel like I just bought a cybertruck. Shocker, my time here is not going how I expected it to. It’s stranger and a bit lonelier than I thought it would be. I think, maybe, it’s exactly what I needed.