The tragedy of Astoria (for me) is that it couldn't stay the same as it was when I lived there, in the 90s. I didn't realize how lucky I was that I moved there at just the right time, when rents were dirt cheap because the crime rate had scared off most non-NYers, but Astoria was quiet, peaceful, and few people outside of Queens knew about it.
In 1994 I was a twentysomething with a huge apartment all to myself (no roommate needed!) and the rent was $550. Every day I got into Manhattan within 15 minutes and the N train was always half-empty, even during rush hour. No "W" train was needed, one train was enough. With all the money I saved I took dozens of trips, taking the Q60 to LaGuardia airport. I lived large on a 19K salary. Truly, Astoria was a budget-conscious person's dream.
When I told my co-workers in Manhattan about Astoria, they said, "Where's that?" If you mentioned you lived in Brooklyn, they felt sorry for you ("oh well, too bad you can't afford Manhattan...")
Astoria was mostly Greek back then but it didn't feel parochial (unlike, say, Bensonhurst) because it was so close to the multicultural City. Most businesses were either Greek diners, restaurants or social clubs, charming cafes and little mom and pop places that no one had ever heard of outside of Astoria.
Then Starbucks came, 9/11 ruined the mood, and other loudmouths began yakking about how convenient to Manhattan the neighborhood was. Then Astoria began to fill up with yuppies, fresh faced kids from the Midwest and the hipster overflow from Brooklyn. My landlord, who had been friendly and convivial for years, suddenly became a Trump wannabe, tearing up my lease and telling me to pay 7x my rent or get out.
And so I fled, along with the majority of my neighbors. We were replaced by young, chatty, name-dropping wannabe actors and other narcissists who used to live in Chelsea, the Village or LES. QED, a comedy club that trained Kate McKinnon, opened. The Museum of the Moving Image did away with its quaint, Queens Library-inspired facade in favor of an ultra modern, corporate-style entrance. The mom and pop stores began shuttering, replaced by either chains or pretentious, gilded boutiques, luxury pet grooming services, flashy bars playing loud music, and long stretches of cheaply made condos with midget balconies. Dozens of large Astoria houses, made for families, were sold and then torn down to make room for these rabbit hutches designed to cram in as many starry-eyed singles as possible without violating the fire code.
I still visit Astoria from time to time, but I feel the dollar signs everywhere and it leaves me empty. It's like visiting an old friend who got mugged, recovered, and then found fame and fortune in Hollywood. In other words, unrecognizable.
So goodbye Astoria, I'm glad I enjoyed you when I did. I don't envy the four twentysomethings now sharing what used to be my single apartment, choking on overpriced drinks and knowing they'll never get out from under their student loans. And I'm sure glad I don't take the N train anymore, which resembles a cattle car even at 2 p.m. on a weekday. read more