Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.
Early evening in Chicago. I’m reading a textbook. A woman walks in. I recognize her from … ? After 10 seconds of looking for the Waldo in my head and I spot him. He’s flying a blue bird, Twitter. Yes, Twitter. V added me a couple weeks earlier, we once chatted about a mutual musical interests (Mount Kimbie & Gold Panda). Unlike me, she’s a 140-master and updates often so I’ve seen her goings-on for the past couple weeks. Sure enough, she writes she’s in that same cafe.
So, what now? Surely it’s odder to sit quietly and/or communicate with somebody who doesn’t know you’re 10 feet from them. Social media is, at least nominally, social. If she tweets about her thoughts and locations multiple times a day, she must be open to spontaneity. If anything, it’s creepier and voyeuristic not to say hello, right? Also, she runs a web site that’s cool and I wanted to hear about. So in the end, I follow my better-to-regret-doing-than-not-doing mantra and go to introduce myself.
She’s embarrassed despite my unthreatening advance (I wasn’t hitting on her). After the fact, she did what I knew her for, and typed:
Recognized via twitter while tweeting emo shit in the coffeeshop. #thatjusthappened
Unsurprisingly, she didn’t remember our web chats but that wasn’t the point. I explained that this was the less creepy of my options and thought I’d simply say hi. Apparently though, she shares that she’s stayed incognito in such situations before (read: I violated protocol).
So if you post your name, photo, thoughts and locations all while easily beginning dialogue with strangers online, an “IRL” sponto hello doesn’t fly. It seems awkward won, so I returned to my book after an odd goodbye and left the cafe soon after.
Doubly embarrassed, as the boy was very nice.
Ha. So my being friendly is more embarrassing? Somebody get me a copy of Book for Kids Who Can’t Tweet Good. Still, I’m trying to take positives from my odd pseudo-rejection.
On platforms like Twitter at least, social media is much more media than social, no matter how open and “friendly” users (who I thought were once people too) are. This comes as no surprise to most but I had some naïve idea that the divide between web and world is not so wide. If anything, I can rest comfortably in my wider world of webonymity. With that, I guess, see you later — in silence…
img: thx.
It’s a story that’s made the rounds in Kreuzberg and many an area inside (Prenzlauer Berg) and outside Berlin (in Chicago’s Wicker Park). But now it’s personal.. and I guess I’m partly to blame.
I lived the dream in Neukölln, a traditional Turkish neighborhood with a history of crime and unemployment, from August ‘09-Sept ‘10. In recent years it’s become a hotbed for student and artist immigration, with the bars, cafés, galleries and buzz that brings with it.
This is me as the bad guy. The guy who you’re hoping doesn’t get the girl at the end: college kid from out of town, club mate in hand, working to live the life in Berlin (and there’s a word for us: I was just another Zugezogener or newcomer). The problem is, the reason why I came to Berlin is also part of the reason it’s changing. Without wanting to, I am both a victim and perpetrator of gentrification.
This film is a simple yet strong protest against the Neukölln Zugezogeners by the founder of one of the areas first and foremost bars, Freies Neukölln. He complains that the bar was meant to simply be a local social spot, not the first of a new generation of bars and galleries to have popped all over the area. He cries out against the students and creative classes that are pouring in and changing the area’s charm equation, against ”the nice girls in pantyhose” who are now spotted walking along Weserstraße, and conforming to imported standards of bars and service. It seems like I, pantyhose excluded, fit this mold.
“You are and will forever be tourists when you don’t stop to believe you are not to blame.”
Though I don’t agree with many of his allegations, I understand his frustration. It’s true, too many techno-tourists arrive in Berlin with the idea that it’s just a playground and party-pit. To be fair, it is arguably the best at both those things. But Neukölln, and other large chunks of Berlin, are lucky enough to have their own character (sadly, an endangered species), which are more than a worthy motive for migration.
That said though, I’m torn between feeling guilty and accepting the reality of gentrification as a change that is both bad and for the better. It’s hard to blame newcomers who are attracted to cities and their blossoming neighborhoods. Not all the change is bad and it’s tough to pull through some of the protectionism and prejudiced stereotypes (mothers with strollers, artists, Barcelonans) the film sets forth.
One thing is for sure, I strived not to be another habitat consumer — not another colonizer, coming to bite into Neukölln’s natural resources (character, personality, atmosphere) and impose my foreign standards and expectations on them. I like to think I succeeded in respecting the area, but I’m not so sure to what extent this is actually possible.
For what it’s worth, I’m hoping present and future migrants will do what they can to integrate and embrace Neukölln for what it is and we won’t lose the charm so many lived there and the attitude we see here.
