Bug Eyes

I had an encounter last week that reminded my why I love New York.

I was at the Starbucks at Union Square—which is, to be fair, an area where you’re rather likely to bump into some of the more committed oddballs of the city. On my way to the register, I noticed a man wearing what I can only describe as a toga-inspired sun dress and a wreath of flowers on his head. Amused but not astonished, I went about my business, procuring the latte I so desperately needed.

As I went to leave, I noticed this gentleman again, looking at me with a mix of puzzlement and distaste, and when I walked by him, he muttered disdainfully:

“Bug eyes.”

I’m fairly certain he was referring to my aviator sunglasses, which I don’t take off inside because it’s too much trouble trying to juggle the off-and-on while putting Splenda in my coffee, and which, I’ll admit, are obnoxiously large and reflective. Hearing such dismayed disapproval from the man dressed as Aphrodite, I started to second-guess my fashion choice. Are the aviators too much? Too flashy? I’m very much open to advice on my wardrobe, especially when I’ve already gotten more than my money’s worth for these crappy glasses that disintegrate on a weekly basis.

Then…I considered the source, and started to laugh to myself. Not to be judgmental, but I’m not really inclined to concern myself with the clothing-related opinions of a dude in a sun dress and a floral crown. I kept laughing as I walked down 14th Street, satisfied to know that I was not the craziest-looking person around, despite the fact that I was now laughing out loud, seemingly at nothing.

That’s why I love New York.

PS: Also, because of this.