There have been many things I have noticed since my arrival in New York ten days ago. The undeniable energy, the convenience of everything, that ‘brunch’ is code for my much loved boozy pub lunch, the fact everybody ‘has a guy…’, and the fact that this city is a magnet of epic proportions for the weird and eccentric. However, there has been one thing that has slightly jarred with my expectations so far: the psychic shop on every corner.
They are everywhere, flaunting promises of untold futures, varying from regal purple signs to more doubtful flashing neon. The obligatory quick Google brings up a NY Magazine article that attempts to decode this phenomenon of NYC being the ‘medium capital of the world’ (who knew?!) whereby its inhabitants will stop at nothing to get the ‘latest information’. The comments alone on the article show the passion and belief bestowed upon the city’s best psychics, elevating them to minor celebrity status.
I should admit that I’m writing as a true to form, cynical Brit and that I find the quantity of these purveyors of the truth a little unnerving.
So what’s it all about? I thought New Yorkers knew exactly what they wanted; so assured, so demanding. Perhaps it’s simply the natural extension of the New York minute: people in this city are far are too busy for life to unfurl at a normal speed. No matter how much this city manages to quicken the pace (and boy nothing prepared me for how quick it is) it still isn’t fast enough. The psychic fast lane to the future is a temptation too great, in the city that has it all, why not have the future too?
Of course, here at Truth Central we like to think we have an eye to the future, but you’re more likely to catch us staring mistily-eyed at a spreadsheet than a crystal ball…