An Ode to the Williamsburg Bridge


She’s an unconventional beauty – her cool, icy exterior; her raw strength and colossal presence; her willingness to reveal her complexity and the constant burdens that weigh her down; her tattoos and her take-no-bullshit attitude.

Her functional-industrial aesthetic is born from necessity rather than design, but today fashionistas from Paris to Tokyo seek to replicate her style, clamoring for that Authentic Brooklyn look.

A Newyorker’s Newyorker, she prefers the Subway, cyclists and pedestrians to car travellers; and catering to tourists? Oy Vey!

She will show you a side of New York you haven’t seen before, and tease you with a view of the city that would be picture-perfect were it not for that damn wired fence. I understand, though; she was raised in a pre-Instagram era.

I couldn’t ask for a better neighbor: I encounter her on early morning runs, where she confidently greets me with an energetic attitude and love for life necessary to thrive in the city that never sleeps; sometimes I encounter her in early summer and Fall evenings when I’ve thought it smart to cycle from work – I curse at her for making me sweat until she relents halfway through the ride, at which point I can’t help but smile as the wind rushes through my hair; I occasionally encounter her in the middle of the night – yes, she’s still awake – as KC and I go for a late night stroll or decide to walk home from a night out in the Lower East Side.

She does what she does day after day, decade after decade, without a word of thanks. That changes today. On behalf of all those you have served, thank you. Keep doing you, Williamsburg Bridge.

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