Will The Last Hipster Please Turn Out The Lights? New York cool dies its thousandth death. A satire
He flicks his cigarette over the ledge. “It’s one of those things you think couldn’t happen here, not in New York.” A pigeon lands. He shakes his head. “But I guess I’m living proof.” The pigeon flies away.
The next day, Gabriel García-Cohen moved to Bruges.
As he might say, if he were still here and not in the fourth-largest city in Belgium: “For real.” Because it’s not just T-shirt designer/aspiring documentary filmmaker/vintage-ashtray entrepreneurs on the Lower East Side, and it’s not just Bruges. It’s D.J./blogger/illusionists in Williamsburg, sneaker model/jewelry designer/fashion PR assistants in Nolita, and independent homosexual artist/vegan-sake-bar owners in the meatpacking district. Like García-Cohen, they’re moving, or already gone, or talking about moving, even if only for the winter. They’re headed to places like Belgium and New Hampshire; Marfa, Texas, and Mobile, Alabama; to Canada, to Australasia, to Los Angeles.
