Park Slope Research Paper
It’s generally accepted that first impressions are very important. However, Park Slope would beg to differ. Park Slope makes no effort to put its best foot forward. Park Slope doesn’t feature any bright lights, glittering skyscrapers, or moving Coca-Cola billboards. Park Slope is perfectly content to leave you with a horde of preschoolers to serve as your welcoming committee.
Streets lined with green, a church on every corner, and more strollers than SUVs; Park Slope is about as suburban as a New York City borough can get. There seems to be an unspoken dress code dominated by khakis and T-shirts, the absolute peak of formality being a polo shirt. An adult is rarely unaccompanied by at least one toddler- a gaggle of them more often than not- Without a stroller to push or reusable Whole Foods bag to tote, I felt like an outsider. …show more content…
The third playground, fifth church, and umpteenth stroller passes by.
In Park Slope, twenty minutes disappear in the blink of an eye, as the flitting shadows cast by trees and identical residencies erase all sense of time and direction. Park Slope is a congruous neighborhood to its core, where 9th and 4th looks no different from 4th and 9th. Google Maps swims in the back of my mind, but a bright pink arrow on the sidewalk interrupts that thought. It points down a residential street, and above it reads ‘STOOP SALE’ in bold lettering. I oblige.
The sale was nowhere to be found, but it brought me closer to a certain shade of forest green right past the corner of the street. Here, I found the first and foremost sign of gentrification: a Starbucks. Littered between the McDonald's, Dunkin’ Donuts, and Subways were small local stores; a handmade toy store or bagel shop overshadowed by much larger giants. “If we walk across the street, we can recycle our cups,” a mother (or teacher, I could scarcely tell the difference) patiently enlightens her group of
children.
“I’m hungry,” a passing child reads my mind, and I begin to look for a quick bite to eat. Thankfully, there’s no shortage of small cafes and delis. A shop dubbed ‘Connecticut Muffin’, catches my eye, a name that definitely warrants an internet search or two. Inside, I find perhaps the only people in my generation within this entire town, giggling behind the counter as they prepare chai vanilla lattes and cold brew coffee for early morning elderly walkers and tired mothers alike. Five minutes, a four-berry smoothie, and a chocolate-banana muffin later, I realize that my phone won’t be necessary; Connecticut muffins taste exactly like their New York counterpart.
The longer I spent in Park Slope, the more I began to notice certain Manhattan standbys turned on their heads. The scent of wet grass instead of wet garbage. The churches that tower over the surrounding brownstones, for once unobscured by skyscrapers. An older man sitting on a milk crate calls out to me and wishes me a good day. I return the sentiment, in that moment sharing a longer conversation with him than any Times Square passerby before. I realise towards the end of my trip that not a single car has honked, and, compared to the cacophonous bustle of the city, the Honda Pilots passing by sound like gentle waves.
Streets lined with green, a church on every corner, and more strollers than SUVs; Park Slope is about as suburban as a New York City borough can get. There seems to be an unspoken dress code dominated by khakis and T-shirts, the absolute peak of formality being a polo shirt. An adult is rarely unaccompanied by at least one toddler- a gaggle of them more often than not- Without a stroller to push or reusable Whole Foods bag to tote, I felt like an outsider. …show more content…
The third playground, fifth church, and umpteenth stroller passes by.
In Park Slope, twenty minutes disappear in the blink of an eye, as the flitting shadows cast by trees and identical residencies erase all sense of time and direction. Park Slope is a congruous neighborhood to its core, where 9th and 4th looks no different from 4th and 9th. Google Maps swims in the back of my mind, but a bright pink arrow on the sidewalk interrupts that thought. It points down a residential street, and above it reads ‘STOOP SALE’ in bold lettering. I oblige.
The sale was nowhere to be found, but it brought me closer to a certain shade of forest green right past the corner of the street. Here, I found the first and foremost sign of gentrification: a Starbucks. Littered between the McDonald's, Dunkin’ Donuts, and Subways were small local stores; a handmade toy store or bagel shop overshadowed by much larger giants. “If we walk across the street, we can recycle our cups,” a mother (or teacher, I could scarcely tell the difference) patiently enlightens her group of
children.
“I’m hungry,” a passing child reads my mind, and I begin to look for a quick bite to eat. Thankfully, there’s no shortage of small cafes and delis. A shop dubbed ‘Connecticut Muffin’, catches my eye, a name that definitely warrants an internet search or two. Inside, I find perhaps the only people in my generation within this entire town, giggling behind the counter as they prepare chai vanilla lattes and cold brew coffee for early morning elderly walkers and tired mothers alike. Five minutes, a four-berry smoothie, and a chocolate-banana muffin later, I realize that my phone won’t be necessary; Connecticut muffins taste exactly like their New York counterpart.
The longer I spent in Park Slope, the more I began to notice certain Manhattan standbys turned on their heads. The scent of wet grass instead of wet garbage. The churches that tower over the surrounding brownstones, for once unobscured by skyscrapers. An older man sitting on a milk crate calls out to me and wishes me a good day. I return the sentiment, in that moment sharing a longer conversation with him than any Times Square passerby before. I realise towards the end of my trip that not a single car has honked, and, compared to the cacophonous bustle of the city, the Honda Pilots passing by sound like gentle waves.