It’s a tough town to get a long with. It may be portrayed as the center of the modern world right now—the idyllic paradise where young CEOs seem to be starting startups straight out of college and dine at Michelin starred restaurants whenever they please.
You’d think I’d be inspired by these seemingly motivated “young kids,” grabbing life by the horns and becoming the future of business. Every time I hear someone say, “Yeah, I started my own app,” I feel like I’m going to vomit.
Well maybe I’d start my own app too if I had Daddy’s trust fund as a security blanket to keep me warm at night. Perhaps I’m just being bitter. But as someone who moved to what used to be one of the world’s most artistic cities, and to become inspired by its creativity, I have become disappointed by the homogenous, and recklessly materialistic wasteland it has become.
Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe it’s my fault that I chose not to get a techie job and live a Kate Spade-clad techie lifestyle. Maybe it’s my fault that I hate the Marina. Sorry Lululemon for not spending my life’s savings on your yoga pants. Sorry I don’t frequent the Ferry building farmer’s market to take IG photos, and shell out five bucks for a tiny(although very sweet) peach. What if I don’t want to make a reservation two months in advance just to eat at a decent restaurant?!
“Oh, but don’t you love the great food?” Yes, if I didn’t feel like I was bleeding hoards of money every time I ate out, then yes I’d love it here! I’d never leave this idyllic foodie paradise! (That four-dollar toast is legit doe.)
Yes, it’s my fault that I came to San Francisco to actually find myself and live out my dreams. How foolish of me.