Old vs. New, or, Why I Like Cities

There are many reasons why people live in cities. I was lucky enough to take a class during my undergrad years with Alain Bertaud as a guest lecturer. One of the key takeaways I remember from the lecture was that cities are, first and foremost, labor markets. People primarily live in cities because cities and their surrounds contain dense concentrations of jobs which makes it easier for people to find work. This works to the advantage of firms as well as people, since firms obviously benefit from having large clusters of workers from which to draw talent and labor. Bertaud is right, and that’s important because the narrative I’m about to discuss gets very overstated sometimes, so much so that it might seem like the only narrative, but it’s not quite as pronounced as it might seem sometimes (even if it’s true of me).

In recent years, and especially at the beginning of the new millennium, a new phenomenon arose in American cities: young people who grew up in the suburbs were starting to live in cities not just for economic reasons, but as a lifestyle choice. It was something that hadn’t happened in quite a while, maybe since punks in New York in the 70’s/80’s, or the Beats around the same time (though I’m probably missing some other examples). Both of these were fringe movements – punks were never anything more than a small sect and the Beats were even smaller. The last time there was a mass movement of people living in cities due to personal lifestyle choice may have been the era of Art Deco and the beginning of high rise living, when living the high life in the city became a symbol of wealth. This eventually seemed to fade away, though it always held sway in particular areas like New York’s Upper East Side or Chicago’s Magnificent Mile.

However, the migration of young suburbanites into cities at the turn of the 21st century was very different from the era of Art Deco. Instead of moving into fancy new towers and having access to all the latest, the new generation, eventually known as millennials, lived in older housing that had become very affordable after generations of decline and disinvestment in American cities. Some even shunned cars and relied solely on public transportation (an almost unimaginable thought to the average suburban American) and they bought up cheap industrial spaces in derelict warehouse districts and started using them to make art and music instead.

But you probably know all these things, because they’ve been happening for the better part of two decades now – so much so that the neighborhoods the millennial migrants moved into initially have now become expensive places to live because of how nice they have become. And with higher prices come a different set of newcomers. Now, instead of people looking for cheap houses, newcomers are willing to pay prices that early millennial migrants and long-time neighborhood residents alike balk at. Things begin to change as the newcomers generally desire nicer things to spend their (larger amounts of) money on and slowly, old neighborhood spots begin to disappear, much to the chagrin of the old-timers and the early millennials.

As you might guess, I am also a millennial migrant, though I’m too young to have been part of the first wave in the early 2000’s. My experience with cities was limited until Nick, my best friend in high school (who had grown up in Manhattan before his family migrated to South Jersey when his dad got a new job) realized that we lived very close to what was then America’s 5th largest city, Philadelphia (it’s now 6th largest as it’s been surpassed by Phoenix and will soon be 7th after San Antonio – but that’s a separate discussion). So, instead of sitting around bored on the weekends like we used to, we started to make trips over to the city to walk around and see something new.

Those first few trips were incredibly important. I especially loved going to the Italian Market and Reading Terminal, but also liked to visit the shops and galleries in Old City and along South Street. We weren’t quite hip enough to know what was going on north of Vine Street or in Northern Liberties and Fishtown at that point, but a critical thing happened when I went to the city. I realized that, contrary to where I lived, which had only been developed relatively recently, there was something that I recognized (though not at the time) as culture in the city. There were buildings and, more importantly, businesses, which had been around for decades, some even for centuries. That made the city a really special place because it had a character that was very much unlike the suburbs where I had grown up. In the city, lots of different people had to interact with each other, in a way that they didn’t where I grew up.

I found a copy of Nathaniel Popkin’s book Song of the City in Wooden Shoe Books on South Street last summer and breezed through it in a week. In it, he talked a lot about what he called the “Bazaar”, which was roughly the area that I live in and which encompasses the Italian Market. I found that a lot of the things that he said about the hectic feeling of the area and how dynamic it was despite having changed very little in recent years to be very true and it felt like I was back in high school coming to the market for the first time and enjoying all of the strange characteristics about it that were absent from the supermarkets at home in Jersey.

As I’ve lived in cities for almost a decade now, there are certain things I’ve come to appreciate and some that didn’t age so well. When I first moved to New York, the first large city I ever lived in, I was taken aback by how much different the culture was in the neighborhood I lived in than my beloved Philadelphia. The Village, though it certainly has some very cool old businesses that have been around forever, experiences a very high rate of retail turnover. Much of Manhattan is the same way, as rents are very high. At first, I found myself turning my back on the newer businesses. After all, in Philadelphia, I learned that the best stuff, the most interesting things, are always found in small old shops run by the same person for 50 years, so how could anything new be good at all?

Though I still avoid anything advertising itself as artisanal, I’ve learned to appreciate the new much more than I used to in New York. I still find great comfort in the old – I’d always rather go to a dive bar than a new bar, and I have no difficulties eating at restaurants where the prices are low or nobody speaks English. But I like the new too, I like thoughtfully designed spaces and cutting edge new restaurants – there are some fantastic new restaurants that I’ve been to in the past several years that push all sorts of boundaries and make great food.

What I lament is the fact that many of the wealthier newcomers are seemingly either unwilling or uninterested in going to the old places that could desperately use their business. They’re what made the city interesting to most people who moved in twenty years ago, but they’re slowly disappearing. Of course, change happens and I’m no nostalgist, but I want to see old businesses survive and for the culture of neighborhoods to be important for new people that move in. What prompted all of these feelings is that I got a 2 foot long hoagie today from my local deli for $13. I was so shocked that an entire 2 foot sandwich cost so little that the lady running the place thought I didn’t want it. Now, I have a delicious sandwich that could feed me for 4 meals. That’s the kind of value that an old school business can offer. If anybody can show me a new place with comparable value, I’ll shut up, but I suspect they’ll have a tough time. On top of that, I desperately hope the pandemic doesn’t wipe out many of the places that make American cities interesting places to live. I don’t know what Center City would be without McGlinchey’s or Oscar’s. My favorite part of a night out in Center City is leaving a fancy bar and pulling up a stool at McGlinchey’s and paying $3 for a 20 oz. mug of domestic beer and striking up a conversation with the person next to me in a bar that’s been around since Standard Oil was the tenant in the building next door. That, to me, is the reason why I like cities.