If it were possible to hug a city, I would hug Chicago.
I moved to Chicago after living in D.C. for two years. I liked D.C. a lot. I appreciated its history, its incredible beauty, and, as an impoverished graduate student, all of its free museums. But I never felt swoony for D.C. the way I do for Chicago. In the classic romcom configuration D.C. is the stupidly handsome prep school guy. He comes from money, his parents belong to the country club, maybe there’s a former senator or governor somewhere in the family. The girl is always Molly Ringwald. I like D.C., but I “heart” Chicago.
What makes you fall for a city? For starters, I think you have to either live there or spend long periods of time in its concrete and steel embrace. Visiting cities is fantastic, but let’s be clear—it’s casual. You’re having a fling; it’s pure fun; one long honeymoon phase. When you reside in a city for months or years you are committed. There is a ring on that finger, girl. Please. It’s meeting the whole family (even racist cousin Nathan). It’s stretches of time that are super boring and very uneventful. It’s bickering over the best way to load the dishwasher.1 When you live in a city you take it for better and for worse; in periods of inflation, till the suburbs or a beach house do you depart. Amen.
Like any other kind of romance, a city crush is kind of inexplicable, a strange alchemy, a sort of spell. You simply know this place is for you, it gets you! This is also why people passionately argue for the superiority of Paris over Rome or Vancouver over Madrid. “My town! My city!” they rail just like the pheromone crazed lovers they are. We pour ourselves into these places and feel that every sunrise glittering off the high rises, every flowerbed in the parks, every “favorite corner café” belongs to us alone. This deepens our devotion while making us insufferable to friends and family from out of town. God forbid we should be somewhere downtown checking out a new public art installation and be mistaken for a, gulp, gasp, sputter-sputter-sputter TOURIST. How. Dare. You. Sir. You kiss your mother with that mouth?
And so it was an “at first sight” situation for me and Chicago. I arrived in a U-Haul driven by my boyfriend at the time over Labor Day weekend of 2001. We unloaded and unpacked the bare necessities, anxious to get out and start exploring my big, grand new town. Except with every wide, beautiful block we turned down, met with rows of imposing, artfully designed buildings, I felt more and more at home. More than that, it was almost as if the city wanted me to feel at ease in my own skin. It’s called The City of Broad Shoulders for good reason.
In the classic and satisfying romcom configuration Chicago is the smart, sensitive best friend; the guy next door, maybe being raised by his grandmother, driving a car he fixed up himself from spare parts; who makes you laugh, but more importantly, thinks you’re the funniest; who longs for you to notice him as more than a friend because he knows you could be really, really happy together and maybe, just maybe, he’s not the only one who thinks this. And he’s right. And the girl is you.
Glasses go back to front you goddamn Communist!
Here are some captures from a rendezvous I had with my favorite “ex” this fall. Enjoy!
Sheila, I loved this! I’ve had many city flings, but I’ve never had a fling with Chicago. This is an oversight I need to remedy! Favorite flings for me include Amsterdam, New Orleans, Seattle, Santiago, and Singapore. I also had a 3-year relationship with NYC. It was complicated, but it didn’t work out so we went long distance, and now I guess we’re in an open relationship?? But in the end, my heart belong to Los Angeles. It’s home and I love it, even when we fight.
Oh, Chicago! What a place to spend a decade. Though I’m now thoroughly a St Louis booster — even a traitorous Cardinals fan! — I love Chicago and it made me what I am in the theatre world. Beautiful city. :)