Why We Should Care About The 'West Village Girls' – and What They Tell Us About Gen Z Women
The TikTokification of the West Village has its appeal, but it comes at a cost.
Yesterday, a corner of the internet was plastered with images of Gen Z women in baggy jeans and white tees, after a New York Magazine story on the glitzy neighborhood shed light on a specific archetype: the ‘West Village Girl.’
Here’s the tl;dr: A rising generation of internet-savvy, yet ironically ostensibly carefree young women are raising brows as they frolic through life, somehow affording $10 matcha lattes and $14 Aperol spritzes (even on weekdays). For members of a generation rebounding from the Covid-19 pandemic and hungry for community, these ‘West Village Girls’ seem to have cracked the code. In true Gen Z form, they’ve bucked norms, embraced remote work, and given zero f*cks. But at the end of the day, they’re strong in number, have buying power, and are a window into the zeitgeist of young women nationwide.
I hesitate to write about New York City (even though I live here), because it can feel disconnected from experiences across the rest of the country. And yet, what happens in New York rarely stays in New York – especially now with social media amplifying the city’s influence far beyond what Sex and the City once did. The lives of ambitious young New Yorkers are broadcast for peers nationwide to see – and aspire toward.
Brock Colyar’s New York Magazine piece yesterday raises three key themes relevant to both West Village Girls and the young women I speak with across the country.
Amid current crises, there’s a palpable nostalgia for “simpler times” – a past that seemed rosier, happier, and more joyful
These Gen Z girls aren’t reinventing the wheel. The West Village has been popular for decades, and in fact, many of these young women can credit their New York City dreams to 90’s icons like Carrie Bradshaw. Sex and the City hit Netflix last year, and immediately resonated with Gen Z girlies hungry for a time period they’ve never experienced firsthand.
The charm, character, and history of the West Village have found new devotees among a generation that grew up in turmoil and really just want to live life fully, with an eye on the past as they chart a new future.
For a generation raised online, physical community has become the ultimate luxury
The subjects in the piece all gush over the in-person attributes of living in the West Village – despite the fact that neighborhood experiences are inherently physical. Their fixation on what was once deemed normal reveals a generation whose adolescence was anything but.
In the piece, Colyar recalls asking the West Village Girls what young people in New York are looking for. Their replies are telling – “Connection! Experiences! The third place!” – echoing what I hear in my conversations with young adults nationwide, who say they’re tired of an online existence and looking for places to come together IRL. This sentiment extends beyond NYC, though perhaps, is more easily fulfilled here thanks to density, public transit, and abundant public spaces.
Colyar calls the West Side Highway “the quad,” noting its campus-like atmosphere. I can attest. On any given Saturday or spring evening after work, the walkway along the river is bustling; it’s hard to go there without seeing someone you know, familiar and full of friendly faces. The same applies to establishments like Bar Pisellino. I sat there for a couple hours a few Saturdays ago and bumped into four groups of people I know. In the West Village, chance interactions (increasingly rare in an era of location tracking apps) flourishes.
Basic may well be the goal. One effect of the post-Covid creator economy is that everyone looks the same, dresses the same, and speaks the same – perhaps because this generation absorbs influence from identical sources. While Colyar notes that the West Village Girls look like “clones,” wearing Adidas Sambas and Aritzia jackets, for some, there’s solace in similarity. “I feel like everyone else here in some way,” Miranda McKeon, the star of the piece, tells Colyar. “That’s the point of it, I guess,” she says.
But McKeon’s 878K Instagram followers underscore a crucial point: New York City trends replicate elsewhere. The sense of ‘girlhood’ cultivated here – whether in the clothes worn or the drinks of choice shared – has remarkable reach.
The TikTokification of the West Village has its appeal. But it comes at a cost.
Despite evolving visions of the American Dream and a rising cost of living, social media has contributed to a FOMO-driven spending that obscures financial reality
As Colyar observes, these women “have seemingly endless disposable income” that they spend on “brunches, coffees, dinners, drinks with your girlfriends,” and that most work in “finance, marketing, publicity, tech – often with active social-media accounts on the side.” The economics behind this lifestyle remain conveniently vague.
But the image painted doesn’t exactly mesh with what I hear from young people across the country or current data on young adults’ finances – 42% of whom say they’re struggling financially, according to the latest Harvard IOP Youth Poll.
That said, the hustle-to-spend culture detailed in Colyar’s piece tracks with anecdotes I’ve heard from young people, especially those on college campuses and in cities, many of whom who say that while home ownership can feel out of reach, it’s often justifiable to spend on short-term pleasure, especially if it means an opportunity to connect with old friends or forge new relationships. In recent listening sessions, I’ve had young people far from New York – everywhere from Kansas City, Missouri to Scottsdale, Arizona – tell me their spending habits are driven by a fear of missing out. They save up for concert or festival tickets, or simply use their disposable income for a girls night out in hopes of making friends in a new city.
Last month, The New York Times’ Emma Goldberg explored ‘Money Dysmorphia,’ the idea that a lifestyle portrayed via social media and what’s really in one’s bank account doesn’t always line up with economic anxiety – leading to “a split-screen view of reality.” The mis-match of how it seems everyone is spending online, coupled with overspending made easier with buy-now-pay-later options presents a fraught economic situation for today’s young adults. Goldberg’s piece also touches on the theory that in times of economic despair (which really, post-Covid, is all Gen Z adults know), there can be more of an appetite for spending on things that give immediate pleasure.
The ‘West Village Girls’ exemplify this phenomenon – or perhaps they’re simply outliers whose visibility amplifies the money dysmorphia felt by their peers across the country.
A media prediction
Last night, I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw that Alix Earle shared she would be posting her Met Gala takes on the Vogue app. Intrigued, I logged on.
Earle wasn’t the only content creator contributing to Vogue’s live feed. Morgan Riddle was sharing her favorite looks, too. This isn’t the first time Vogue has partnered with the duo of creators. Riddle even shared her takes on Capitol Hill fashion while attending Trump’s address to Congress in March.
So what? If I had to put a wager on it, I’d say this is where media coverage is headed. Traditional publications need Gen Z eyes, and content creators are hungry for legitimacy hard to build on their own – even if they have millions of followers. Both sides will use each other to survive.
While fashion (and sports) media have already adopted this mentality, political news media is a few steps away. That said, we’ve seen content creators who cover politics like Under The Desk News’ or Betches’ appear on MSNBC.
I expect to see much more of this moving forward.
Noteworthy reads and listens
Why Are So Many Young People Looking For God?, Susan Akyeampong for Dazed
Gen Z Is Fueling ‘Quiet Proposing’ Trend, Suzanne Blake for Newsweek
The Job Market for Young Grads Is Flashing Red, ‘Plain English’ with Derek Thompson