Of course you live in Brooklyn. You’re a finance guy who couldn’t make it in Manhattan socially, so you moved across the river to cosplay as interesting. You ditched your Murray Hill apartment and Patagonia vest for a Carhartt beanie and a vinyl collection you don’t listen to. You started calling your apartment a “loft” even though it has water damage and your view is a brick wall. You tell your coworkers you love the “vibe” out there, like that’s a personality trait. You walk around in vintage band tees you bought last week and pretend you discovered natural wine. You post photos of yourself drinking espresso outside a café with broken furniture like that’s grit. It’s not grit. It’s just delusion dressed up as identity. You think being in Brooklyn makes you more grounded. It doesn’t. You’re still the same guy who uses “synergy” unironically and has a framed Michael Jordan quote in your bedroom. You just swapped your bros from Equinox for dudes named Theo who wear nail polish and ghost you after one kickball game. Deep down, you know you’re not one of them. You still Venmo request for beers. You still wear loafers to the farmer’s market. You still talk about Connecticut like it’s the promised land because one day, after your little Brooklyn phase burns out, you’re going to end up back in a glass box off the Metro-North talking about how “it’s only an hour into the city.”Brooklyn never wanted you. It just tolerated you while you played pretend.