Posted deep in the comments on Gawker.
As someone with some amount of expertise in hating on New York, and who lived in Seattle, which is sort of jealous of San Francisco, and who also lived in Las Vegas, which wished it was L.A., this entire debate cracks me up. New York is vastly overrated and its citizens are given to self-mythologizing in a way that I don’t think even LA, with the Hollywood machine backing it, does. You would think on the 8th day, God created New York, the way New Yorkers like to talk about how they invented this and that and the seat of all rock was created here, and look at this amazing shitty nightclub that was the most historically important thing ever. A lot of this self-mythologizing can be attributed to the sheer number of media organizations in New York. Because you know writers, we write what we know.
Consider: New Yorkers, who pay out the nose for rent and other costs of living, put up with an unbelievable amount of people, dirt, grime, and stress, are heavily invested in believing that they live in the “Greatest City in the World.” Because if it’s not the center of the universe, then why are they putting up with all this bullshit? I think they hate L.A. so voraciously because the public image of L.A. is an easy target, (blonde, fake, tan, insipid, shallow, ect), and also because they know in their bones, they’d actually like it better if they just tried to live somewhere outside of Hollywood or Bev Hills. It’s almost a case, of someone doth protest too much.
I can’t tell you how many of my friends were like, “ewwwww, L.A!!!!” but like, now, I literally have to deny them access to couch-surfing because I have had an average of three visitors a month since I got here. Also, keep in mind, because the average New Yorker insists on remaining in an unending state of arrested development (somewhere between 21 and 27), none of them can drive, or if they once did, they let their license lapse (was also guilty of that), and so when they come here, because they aren’t all that good at figuring anything out that’s not right under their noses, they stay at the Standard on the Sunset Strip, where they are trapped for the duration of their trip, surrounding by the worst of L.A. stereotypes, washed out butt rockers, their Carmen Electra rip-off stripper girlfriends, and the OC douchebags in one fell swoop-until, of course, one of their friends obliges and picks them up like mommy and daddy and takes them somewhere else. *Bangs head into wall.* It’s okay, you know what, you guys are all right. New York rules. Stay there. I am gonna go on a bike ride now in perfect 75 degree weather with views of the ocean. Oh, and I do this nearly every day.