Photos by Yvonne Vávra
By Yvonne Vávra
We’re pretty. Officially pretty, confirmed by real estate agents. In a recent survey, they agreed that nowhere in the country is spring as beautiful as it is on the Upper West Side, especially along our stretch of Central Park. Cherry blossoms and magnolias bloom in happy-making shades of pink, all playing out in front of the magnificent apartment buildings on Central Park West as if the whole scene had been art-directed. By any reasonable standard, this is beauty.
We knew. We didn’t need the agents’ verdict. Of course, on any stressful day, it’s easy to miss what’s around us. But the beauty of the Upper West Side is hard to ignore, especially in spring, when the longer light, the burst of color, and the warmer air play with our hormones and suddenly, every corner is glowing. We’re giddy to spill out into the neighborhood, notice new things, wander further, and get a little carried away by it all. I’m in love with the Upper West Side even knee-deep in a slush puddle, hail coming down sideways. But spring really makes me want to hug a brownstone—something, anything.
But beauty can be a lot. Sometimes it feels downright cruel. When I’m feeling low and shuffling around in a slump, the Upper West Side stares at me like: Really? You’re going to mope in front of architectural grandeur, in a neighborhood where you can drop in and out of arguably the most beloved city park in the world almost by accident, like it’s nothing? Oh, your life is so hard, isn’t it?
I can take the mocking, but the guilt is harder to bear. I live in the most beautiful environment I can imagine—if I dreamed it up, it would look exactly like this. The same feel of Columbus Avenue in the 80s, the same breathtaking Dorilton building and its gorgeous peers, the same Broadway bustle, the same dogs sniffing around. And I’d definitely make sure there were not one, but two iconic parks, plus the river that started this whole city.
And still, sometimes I manage to focus on the damp walls of some dark chamber in my brain. It feels absurd to linger in there instead of being out here, under the cherry trees. Being happy all the time on the Upper West Side seems easy. My bad.
Of course, life isn’t easy, and beauty usually can’t solve anything. But it can lift you up a little, wherever you happen to stand.
Nevertheless, I’d love to rant a bit longer about the burden of beauty, if you’ll have me. I guess I’m feeling a little prickly. After all, last week was rough. Summer dress on Wednesday, back in my winter puffer on Thursday—not exactly easy on the mood.
So let’s dive a little deeper into the tragedy of arriving at your “one day.” I remember when these streets were my “one day.” I thought that if only I could live on the Upper West Side, in this beautiful, uplifting setting, a whole new human would break out of me, feeling all the way different. But after almost 10 years, the evidence is in: I’m living in the nicest version of things, and yet everything feels as incomplete as ever. I’m still just me, damp chamber and all. And I have nowhere to go because, through an inexplicable bout of universe luck, I’m already exactly where I want to be. Stuck.
Now that we’ve established that the beauty of the Upper West Side can push you down a spiral, and we’ve all had a good laugh filing it under “silly columnist needs new goals in life,” let’s come back to reality and talk about real beauty. It’s found, perhaps most of all, in the places that don’t make it into coffee table books but define character. Love grows when you’re invited to see the vulnerable, authentic, not-so-picture-perfect side of someone—or of a neighborhood.
I have a soft spot for the dollar stores of upper Amsterdam Avenue, with their ragtag crew of broom sets, plant pots, suitcases, colorful buckets, and canes out front. I love the Broadway medians, which often don’t look too pretty, but I appreciate them for what they’re trying to be. I love seeing the roots of our old street trees breaking through the sidewalk, curious about what’s up. And I enjoy every sighting of an Upper West Side stationery store, because I know they keep a treasure trove of random pens that look like they’ve survived the disco era.
The most beautiful thing about spring on the Upper West Side is how it brings us together. An abundance of cafés, parks, plazas, and other public spaces gives us room to linger, mingle, chat, and enjoy life side by side. Not every neighborhood is so lucky. Too many parts of the city are designed more for passing through than for enjoying. This weekend, may your only burden be finding a free seat from which to spot something beautiful you’ve never noticed—and leave with the urge to hug a brownstone.
Yvonne Vávra is a magazine writer and author of the German book 111 Gründe New York zu lieben (111 Reasons to Love New York). Born a Berliner but an aspiring Upper West Sider since the 1990s (thanks, Nora Ephron), she came to New York in 2010 and seven years later made her Upper West Side dreams come true. She’s been obsessively walking the neighborhood ever since.
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