
I've spent all night packing my belongings in my apartment. I can't help but look around at my dream apartment that I've barely lived in and think about all the memories that could have been made here. What used to be a full double-leveled closet with drawers full of clothes, ties, watches, belts, wallets, and sunglasses are now disheveled or empty.
I hate moving. I moved around a lot while I was growing up, eventually I transferred the painful memories of leaving friends behind with the tedious task of packing. Each scarf, sweater, sock, and towel I cram into my suitcase reminds me of another time and occasion where I last wore the item.
This move might be the hardest of all. I will no longer be a New Yorker. No longer a citizen in the city at the center of the universe that has rewarded me each time I explored new streets, stopped by new stores, wandered aimlessly. I am moving to Paris- The City of Love, Capital of the Fashion World. I should be happy to move there for work, but I'm not. My heart is in New York as it has been for a while now. Theres something about the city lights at night and the mix of timeless architecture and modern-legendary skyscrapers intertwined during the day that moves and inspires me. And now, I will no longer see the Apple-store near the Guggenheim, or go on dates at Masa, or order sushi from the place in the lobby of our office at 8pm. The truth is, I love this city- so much. I love the disorder, the old-society, the new-wave, the culture, the anti-culture, I love the complexity and the personality that this city offers.

I remember when I was a junior in college after I had just received my first invitation to final rounds with an investment bank in Manhattan. I was at once nervous, intimidated, excited, and hopeful. New York City is the stuff of legends, the investment bankers, movie stars, real estate tycoons, surgeons, fashionistas, socialites who move and shake the world wander the streets (sometimes in their impeccable Tom Ford tux's, sometimes in their chauffer driven Maybachs) amongst the masses. It gave me the feeling that you really need to be "someone" to survive in this town. I remembered, being so curious to see which stereotypes of i-bankers were true (as depicted in American Psycho and Wall Street), and taking a picture next to the famed Wall St. sign.

The rush one gets from walking through the offices of the Goldman/Morgan's of the ibanks is unparalleled with any other feeling. I at once could feel the history (at least since the 1980's) and the modernity of the priviledged white boys club with a hint of affirmative action in place. After the first of my final round of interviews, I remembered being so excited at how it went that I immediately sought out Bergdorf Goodman. Of course, I got lost along the way and discovered a great Thai take out place, the contents of which, I enjoyed by myself in Central Park as I tried to guess what occupation people held as they walked/jogged in front of me. After my meal, I eventually found my way inside Bergdorf Goodman.
Although Paris will always be the Capital of the Fashion World, New York will go down in my book as the place it all started for me. I will truly miss you.

