Nothing Like Spring for a Street Fair

Notes from New York

by Mollie Fermaglich

Dear Street Fair Fans:

Yes, the weather is getting warmer.  You can think Hamptons.  You can think the Amalfi Coast or the French Riviera. I’m thinking New York City street fairs.  And I’m not happy.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love a bargain as much as the next person.  But wait.  Maybe I don’t.  Clearly not as much as you do.  I’ve often wondered about your particular penchant for shopping for things you don’t need and probably won’t ever use, or will use and be enraged when the aforementioned things fall apart and you have no recourse because street vendors, like Bedouins, are hard to track down, only to repeat your truly nutty behavior the following weekend in a different neighborhood.

I’ve racked my brain for years, trying to figure out what it is that draws you out of the comfort of your home and into the streets, to be among people and merchandise aka junk -*see cardboard boxes of irregular socks and underwear, fake pashmina shawls and nauseating incense.  Is it the ability to roam freely through the gutters of midtown Manhattan where, on a normal day, cars and buses and taxis and trucks rule?  Perhaps it’s the fact that you can cross the street when the light is red and clearly states, “DON’T WALK”.  Or it could it be that you feel a special sort of camaraderie with your fellow New Yorkers, whom you go out of your way to avoid at work, on the subway, in elevators?

As you meander through the racks of hippie skirts and ethnic blouses, revel over shoe boxes filled with triple-a “A” batteries, hair scrunchies and extension cords, maneuvering your way through double-wide strollers and the entitled parents who push them, three pound yap-dogs on expandable leashes pulling their owners toward anything on a skewer, does the magic ever diminish?  “Oh no, Mollie,” you smugly say, “there’s nothing more ‘real’ than a New York street fair!”  Really?

Excuse me, but isn’t that you eating a mango carved into the shape of a tulip checking out those Mexican huarache sandals made in China, next to a vendor selling Fendi and Vuitton knock-offs?

Wait!  I know what draws you to every street fair from the Lower East Side to the Upper West Side — must be that Indiana Jones-sense-of-adventure.  Perhaps you’ll find the Covenant of the Lost Ark.  Perhaps you’ll find down-alternative pillows and a warped Dave Clark Five album – the possibilities are boundless.  It’s said that anticipation is always greater than realization.  Maybe the West Village street fair wasn’t all you hoped it would be and you plan to go to the street fair in Gramercy Park next week.  This is not unlike paying for HBO-Max for years because you’re sure that next month there’ll be a film you actually want to watch.

But you’re not nuts – everyone buys his mattress pad on the street, and rancid meat-on-a-stick from vendors who look like Ratso Rizzo.  It’s perfectly rational to wander aimlessly like urban Children of the Corn, examining chandelier earrings. and magnetic belly rings as though they were archaeological treasures.

So. maybe I’ve gotten through to you.  After all, as human beings, isn’t it our collective responsibility to reach out to one another when one of us, (you), exhibits questionable behavior?  It’s possible that you’re at least re-thinking how to spend those precious weekends.  You could go to the green market. No, wait.  That’s a street fair for fruits and vegetables.   Forget I said that.

How about a movie?  But it’s dark in there, you say, and it just doesn’t satisfy the wanderlust in me.  Relax.  You can still buy things you don’t need.  Nine-dollar boxes of Nestle’s Munch-a-Crunch, Gummyie Sour Worms and KitKat bars the size of cutting boards.  Dip-N-Dots ice cream is almost as silly as the funnel cakes you scarf down at street fairs.  And there are other people there that won’t crash into you because everyone will be seated.  Or, if you must browse, shop and roam in order to feel “whole,” why not — I don’t know – go to an actual store?  You know – with doors and walls and restrooms and a return policy.  While clothing displayed according to size and season might be a a little too foreign to you, there are decided advantages to making purchases at a place that actually exists. Or, as a last resort, you can spend Saturday cleaning your apartment.  Yes, I understand you think it’s clean, but I could write my name in the dust on your mini-blinds, and the inside of your kitchen trashcan hasn’t been washed out since the Bowery was a prairie.

Have a nice weekend!