By Lieba Nesis

As someone who enjoys the New York City nightlife scene to excess, the pandemic has been anything but easy.  My typical week formerly included photographing and chronicling three to four events, while heading to nightclubs such as 1 OAK and Up and Down.  March 9th was my last hurrah-there was an eerie feeling in the air as I attended The SAB gala with a subsequent nightcap at 1 OAK.  It felt like an asteroid was about to fall as fearful guests apprehensively greeted each other.

  The following day the world started to turn upside down as it became clear New York would be the epicenter of the crisis.  Feelings of panic and uneasiness washed over me as the City I loved became mired in death and despair.  Having grown up in Greenwich Village I spent the entirety of my life enjoying the streets of New York.  Times Square, Soho and the Upper West and East Side still charm me with their unique flavor.   New York is unrivaled with its eclectic population containing an extraordinary amalgam of celebrities, financiers, and academics.  The depth of activities available is extraordinary-there is no other city where you can gather hundreds of stamp collectors to the same arena.  Anxiously anticipating the March gala season my hopes were dashed when coronavirus arrived.  How would I survive the next three months without restaurants, socialization or clubbing? Initially I befriended my doorman Adam whose conversation kept me occupied from 1-4 AM every night.  However, it became readily apparent he was missing his quiet time and so I took up Netflix shows Fauda and Quantico watching up to six hours a night on my tiny cracked phone screen.  Snacks were definitely a necessity so I headed to the 24-hour Fairway to purchase ice cream and brownies-while often encountering a one-hour line.

 Desperate for company, I telephoned old friends some of whom I found out had gotten divorced and others who seemed unfamiliar with my identity.  I knew the situation was dire when I began purchasing the same magazines without recognizing the familiar content until hours had been wasted.  To date Men’s Health is the only glossy I found remotely informative.  And yes I enjoyed the usual gossip covering Meghan Markle’s $16 million mansion stays and the juicy infighting between Anna Wintour and Andre Leon Talley.  Talley’s book “The Chiffon Trenches” has been released on Amazon.  He calls it a love letter to Wintour while simultaneously claiming she is “incapable of human kindness”-hardly a Cyrano de Bergerac scenario.  Supermodel Naomi Campbell occupied a few evenings with her interviews of Cindy Crawford and Marc Jacobs.  However, Campbell’s self involved tendencies had her dominating nearly every interview with her own stories (a major faux pas).

Maybe exercising would be more satiating I thought, so I decided to run the streets all day until my neck and back gave out.  Hours of jogging can be harmful when you are no longer an adolescent. Studying every aspect of the pandemic became an additional obsession, as I wrote 40 articles over two months and tried to decipher the origin and lethality of the disease-I am still unsure of either.  As the virus dissipates I am looking towards a new hobby-sewing, Spanish, and cooking are obviously not my strengths. As stores begin opening I am wary as to whether a Gucci shirt is worth risking a cotton swab up my nose along with possible chills, and hospitalization.  Until I decide to venture out, I am hopeful I might discover a hidden talent or two-don’t be surprised if you soon see me juggling on the Upper West Side.