If It Means Something
Lessons learned from strangers at Cafe Luxembourg.
My dinner plate had been cleared, a dessert menu placed in front of me. I still had a few sips left of my Manhattan and was enjoying people-watching while I waited for my companion to return from the restroom. Across from my table were two older women, likely in their late 70s, wearing sparkly wool sweaters that twinkled in the buttery light of the mirrored dining room, their eyeglasses as big as the water glasses in front of them. I smiled to myself watching them chatter away to one another—I could tell they were gossiping, and I hoped for their sakes it was something juicy. I wondered whether they hadn’t seen each other in months or if they had a standing reservation every Friday night at Cafe Luxembourg. I hoped it was the latter—that would be distinctly chic.
My aunt returned to her seat across from me, smiling as our conversation picked up where it had left off. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been to the Beacon Theatre and was excited for our night ahead. I had been joking with my friends earlier that day about how the last time I saw Patti Smith live, I got a tattoo the next day. What unexpected surprises would tonight bring?
“So have you seen Patti Smith before?” I asked my aunt Sharon.
“I have not!” she exclaimed, and immediately, we were no longer having a private conversation.
“Are you guys going to the show tonight? Sorry, I totally just intruded on your conversation,” said our new friend, who was now waiting for her companion to return from the restroom. Of course we’d chat with her.
Sharon and I both laughed, answering yesandwearesoexcited at the same time. Our new friend, who soon introduced herself as Ann, told us that Patti was going to play Horses top to bottom since it was the 50th-anniversary tour. I had presumed this would be the case. Chills. After sharing with Ann that I had been to a Patti Smith show before and how life-changing it was (tattoo and all), we began talking about Patti’s influence on the younger generation of New York and beyond. Ann recommended I read Just Kids and I told her how I read it once a year every year. She was proud to hear that.
Her partner Peter, middle-aged and lanky with wired glasses and ashy brown hair to his shoulders, returned to their table as Ann, Sharon, and I were mid-conversation.
What made Patti’s writing in Just Kids so special was that it chronicled her coming-of-age in a very bohemian version of New York City during a time of seismic cultural change. Regardless of whether you were alive during that time or not, anyone could relate to the themes of wanting to make something out of nothing. Meeting someone who would change your life. Being young. Being free. (And romanticizing all of that.) Of course New York had changed significantly since the days of CBGB’s and Max’s Kansas City, but I desperately wanted to believe that the energy of decades past had reincarnated itself into the institutions and scenes that exist in the city today. My aunt had her own version of this city, Ann had hers, and I had mine. We all grew up in different generations, but we knew what we loved and what kept us here.
We began talking about social media’s depiction of our city and the pejorative online comments that naturally come with it. (The What Has This World Come To comments of the world, if you will.) Ann’s partner Peter was fully engaged in the conversation by this point, and I could tell from the moment he opened his mouth that I liked him.
“I don’t agree with my peers who say New York will never be as good as it once was. Everyone will always be nostalgic for other times,” he said, and I nodded in agreement as he continued. “If it means something to you, that’s what matters. Everyone has their own New York.” My aunt and I exchanged a warm glance across our table. We couldn’t agree more. She told Peter and Ann, “I love seeing New York through Angelina’s eyes for that very reason,” and I thought about how I loved seeing New York through hers.
Sharon and Peter quickly started bonding over bars and clubs they frequented in the 90s. Peter grew up in the city and has lived in the East Village for over 40 years, while Ann moved here in the early 2000s from San Francisco. My aunt has been on the Upper West Side for as long as I’ve been alive. We all had our personal versions of this city, and to each of us, it was our own. As I watched my aunt Sharon and Peter discuss the downtown of decades past, Ann turned to me and said, “This is why I love New York.” Me too.
I often ponder the idea of intergenerational friendships. Although the 4 of us were a wide range of ages, we had so much to talk about. Ann told us that she and Peter have friends in their 20s and 30s who are in the art scene who “keep them young,” and to me this was already evident. It reminded me of a Chloe Sevigny interview I had seen a while ago in which the interviewer asked her how she has such great style and maintains her “it-girl” status or whatever. She answered simply, “I look to the younger generation.”* There shouldn’t be any shame in acquainting with those who are younger or older. A world confined to friendships with only peers sounds terribly monotonous.
Peter and Ann had paid their bill and said they hoped to see us at the Beacon. We didn’t exchange contacts, but I truly wanted to see them again. I focused my attention back to our table and noticed we still had dessert menus in front of us, but we didn’t feel the need to order anything. We were nourished by the conversation.
At the Beacon that night, Patti Smith indeed played Horses from top to bottom, along with several other powerful ballads and poetry that I felt through my whole body. We happened to run into Ann at the bar and excitingly exchanged pleasantries as if seeing an old friend for the first time in years. I hoped it wouldn’t be the last.**
After the show, my aunt walked me to the subway and I boarded the downtown 1 Train, listening to “Gloria: In Excelsis Deo” as I thought about My New York and what it means for me. My friends. My pink kitchen. My inside jokes with my superintendent. My favorite tables at my favorite restaurants. My bookstores. My name inscribed in the sidewalk on Bleecker and Sullivan. My previous apartments. My memories. My writing. It was all so distinctly me. I savored the lessons from my night as I replayed the conversation in my head. If it means something to you , that’s what matters. Everyone has their own New York.
No matter where in the world you are, I hope you make it your own.
*I couldn’t find the exact interview and don’t remember her exact words, but they were along the lines of that. She was basically saying to pay attention to young people, for there’s no way to move forward if we ignore the youth!
**I mean this when I say that meeting these people was a major highlight of my 2025 and if anyone happens to know a Peter and Ann from the East Village who saw Patti Smith at the Beacon Theatre on November 21, please reach out to me!!!!!
And as always, thank you for reading. <3 LoF Radio this week includes only songs from my Spotify Wrapped.
You have such a talent for capturing a moment and making me feel like I was there for it!
I knew that you would write about this. It meant something. So does New York.