Yesterday: Hipsters strutting around in Chinatown, acting like they own the place, acting like they’re so cultured when they order “braised duck,” “Young Chow Fried Rice” instead of “chicken and broccoli,” “pork-fried rice.” Hipsters acting like they know what “Chinese food,” what “Chinese culture” is because “we live in Chinatown/we live near Chinatown.” Hipsters who wear shirts of sexual “geishas,” Mount Fuji, rolling clouds, Chinese characters, and claim that they’re just “cultured,” “love the Asian culture.” Hipsters who don’t understand, who get defensive when I tell them that they’re not fucking Chinese, not fucking Asian, don’t know anything about what it means to be fucking Asian, and don’t know anything about “Asian culture”
(Which, by the way, encompasses East Asia, South Asia, Southeast Asia, Central Asia.)
Today: Hipsters throwing loudass parties in the Bronx, acting like they own the neighborhood because “we work at the Bronx Zoo/we live here in the Bronx/we take the 6 train.” Hipsters in the Bronx who claim that they love diversity, then clutch their handbags when a fourteen-year old boy of color passes them on the bus. Hipsters who are thrilled to see that new organic, gluten-free grocery bullshit store open, ignoring the locals’ fear of the gradual takeover and closure of the local bodegas, nail salons, barbershops, butchers, Dominican restaurants, places that have always been dear, important, necessary to those in the Bronx who were here before.
My city is changing, and it’s not changing for the better,