The New Yorker

      The New Yorker is known to publish clever political cartoons and drawings relevant to current events. Its issue published the week of Oct. 12, 2015, is no exception. The cover depicts a grand hotel, stretching high into the skyline. Guarding the doors are two bellhops who seemingly tower over all that walks among the city streets.
     I have been to New York a couple times as a young girl, however my memory limits me from drawing forth clear imagery. The wonder of this sleepless city is not completely foreign to me; it is nearly impossible to escape. The glamorous life of a city- goer is glamorized in just about every rap, pop, and rock song. Diamonds from Tiffany, Loubouton heels, Versace suits, Gucci bags-- let's face it: money is power. We want to be these people; the holders of social credibility, financial security, and pure hapinesss. When I think of New York, I think of social, political, and economic dominance. I do not think of cracked pavement and crumbling starues, but glistening sky scrapers that seem to shine like gold. Even workers of the big corporations and brand names even seem to hold an advantage; by association, they become powerful.
     By reflecting deeply on this cover page of The New Yorker, a new vision is born. I put myself in the streets of the city. I am just a girl, lost among the crowds. I feel weakened; lost. I am an outsider. The true New Yorkers hold the power, and I am beneath them. The corporate world engulfs me, and I am trapped. Truly, the glamour only exists within my ignorance. My imagination has now been tainted by all the corruption. This luxury I once dreamed of is now my worst nightmare.