This week in the West Village Whining: The owner of Carrie Bradshaw's “Sex and the City” apartment on posh Perry Street got permission to build a steel and cast iron gate in front of her building, making tourists unfathomably rowdy.
Call it “sex” and NIMBY.
In an application to the Landmarks Preservation Commission, exasperated property owner Barbara Lorber — for which Manolo Blahnik is a four-letter word — said that “at any hour of the day or night, there are groups of visitors in front of the house taking flash photos.” Photos, engaging in rants, posting on social media, or just celebrating the moment.
imagine. People talking excitedly in the street. In Manhattan. This is practically a war crime.
And worst of all – are you sitting down? -Happy HBOers often sit on the famous staircase at 66 Perry Street to pose for photos pretending to be Sarah Jessica Parker's Carrie, defying the owner's attempt to create a fenced-in subdivision with the current “No Trespassing” chain.
Sometimes, if the fans are a little upset, they'll ring the doorbell.
Lock them up!
The city agreed to Lorber's greatly exaggerated request for a barrier because the biggest threat facing the town five today is free-spending, adult women wearing miniskirts.
Sorry, but I feel like a Soho House office host.
Stop by Chez Johnny sometime, Barb, for four flights of stairs and a WayFair sofa that I swear was once blue.
Every evening without fail, someone is dining on the steps of my East Village as if they were at an outdoor Denny's restaurant.
Later, the NYU kids scream incomprehensibly until they're red in the face at 4 a.m. when the last bars are closing.
FedEx contacts me from dawn to dusk to accept packages for absentee tenants.
When I lived in Washington Heights, addicts would regularly set up a Holiday Inn in my foyer after breaking the lock.
Where is my gate?
Look, I'm sure it's very annoying to be the real-estate embodiment of why so many young women dream of moving to New York to become columnists, CEOs, and fashion designers. A hardship indeed.
Now, instead of a luxury tour of one of the city's hippest areas, you'll find Katz's Deli, Tom's Restaurant, the Lincoln Center Fountain, and the fire station from the movie Ghostbusters. Presumably you have paid the price for this horrific torture.
“Not enough!” I can hear you screaming across Fifth Avenue. Maybe you're right.
But wouldn't it be nice to live in a permanent piece of New York City history? Beyond the catchphrases and dresses, this show — and by extension, your residence — served as an essential billboard for post-9/11 New York. “Sex and the City” said New York City remains charming, fun and challenging.
Just accept that we live in one of the most photographed places in the world. Your home is a big reason why people visit here from all over the world. It should brag about attracting more tourists than the “Moonstruck” brownstone on Murray Hill.
How lucky are we to live in such a desirable and famous city with an icon around every corner? Wouldn't it be fun if people traveled here to see not the home of the Queen or the President or the Grand Pope, but the rather ordinary apartment of their favorite fictional New Yorker?
Wasn't it incredibly poignant to watch devastated “Friends” fans mourn the death of Matthew Perry outside of an instantly recognizable exterior — in your own neighborhood?
It was for me.
Actually, wait. Scratch that.
If your new gate is being de-gated “And Like That…” I have your back all the way.
Make the West Village Gate again!
