The true Williamsburg begins below the Williamsburg Bridge. Above it, or northward, is Southside, Northside and Greenpoint. The whole stretch of Bedford Avenue that acts as the spine of the neighborhood that runs from McCarren Park (in Greenpoint) to Broadway (which connects to the Williamsburg Bridge) is not in Williamsburg. Not that it much matters. Except “Williamsburg” has become a code-word for “cool” and there are still people who are like, “Gah, you mean you haven’t been to Williamsburg?”, like, What are you, asleep? You pathetic nothing who has no life and no idea where all the cool people are habitating and hanging.
If you want a clear picture of what developers and ambitious young trendies can do to a neighborhood do this: First go to the Bedford Avenue stop on the L train. Walk around a little. See the hipsters in their untucked short-sleeved work shirts. See them with their bandolier-style Manhattan Portage bags. Watch them in their Fifties-style eyeglasses, their ironic rock T-shirts, their coffee bars, book nooks, their wraps, molded furniture, their manicured sideburns and studied casualness, their desperate “apartment wanted!!!” fliers, their equally desperate apartment sales, their art, their smug self-assured grins which are equal parts ego, relief that others have bought in and others have approved, that Williamsburg is working out, man, and part, Yeah, I’ve been here three years, long before all of this. Also look at the two remaining Polish butchers, the Polish travel agency, and think about this district when it was something else. Then walk south on Bedford to South Third Street, turn left (east) to Havemeyer Street, turn right (south) and walk to Broadway. It’s about a ten minute walk. Stroll along under the elevated J-M-Z subway line. It’s Black, Hispanic, vibrant, alive, with cheap shoe shops, 99-cent stores, cuchifritos stands, families and kids hanging out, music blaring, record stores, bootleg compact discs on the street, and other than the hormonal antics of the teenage boys, very little posturing. Just people being real. It’s a nice contrast. Anyway, this is my new neighborhood: a three bedroom share, $600 a month, South Third Street. Me and my Drew Carey glasses, my untucked short-sleeved shirts, my black boots, my penchant for nerdy young women in horn rims and Birkenstocks.