Sunday, December 12, 2010

It's the Sneakers, Stupid

When hanging out in a city you love, it is perfectly natural (IMO) to yearn to pass as a native. In NYC, I figured I was halfway there when someone stopped me to ask for directions. But for the first couple of months, if I stopped walking or even slowed my pace, someone would come up to me and offer to give *me* directions.


Every time that happened I pondered what it was about me that gave away my alien status. I finally figured it out. My shoes. NYC females do *not* wear running shoes/sneakers/tennis shoes. The only XX humans in NYC who do so are tourists.


Unfortunately that discovery presented me with a conundrum: How could I possibly walk my typical six or seven miles in boots, or even flats for that matter. It's either running shoes or the subway.


I've been settling for half and half. I take the subway (and leave my sneakers behind) when my destination is more than 25 blocks away. And what better place to feel like a native than on the NYC subway.

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