Puce Naugahyde
Methinks the Lady Do Protest Too much
By Ross Elfline
 | Illustration by David Merrit |
It's come to the point where I can no longer leave my apartment and walk to the el without being caught unawares by a video camera. Am I yet another cruel victim to urban paranoia? Have I shacked up with Stephen Dorff in what is soon to unravel as the latest Hollywood "outing"? Or do I merely live down the street from the house where the latest installment of MTV's The Real World is currently being filmed? Sadly for Steve it's the latter, I'm afraid to say.
The disconcerting thing is that half the time the cameras aren't those of the famed taste-making multi-national, but those of the local news stations who have come to film, of all things, the protesters gathered outside The Real World's residence on North Avenue.
Now, there are many things to protest about MTV: How they further misogynistic tendencies among American males with their annual coverage of Spring Break, their wholesale leverage of indie rock music, how not a single guy at the summer beach house has so much as one wispy chest hair. Pitiful. Paltry. Putrescent. But no, what is being argued by the angry mob is that the Real World house is going to attract gentrification to Wicker Park.
I have been a proud resident of Chicago's west side for over three years now, after ditching the bucolic nature of the city's north side. Wicker Park and Bucktown had slowly been changing for a couple of years, but affordable rent was still bountiful and it sure beat the increasingly yuppified Andersonville or the commodified queerness of Boystown. Over the past three years, however, this part of Chicago's west side has given over to developers and the power of chic. In short, the protesters are a few years too late. Do they honestly believe that the presence of MTV, as conspicuous and irksome as it may be, is going to bring in further gentrification to the neighborhood?
Well, Puce is a reasonable person, or so I would like to think. So I decided to give the protesters the benefit of the doubt and intrepidly ventured out to the neighborhood to see what charming nuggets of rugged splendor Wicker Park would be sure to lose with the impending onslaught of luxury condominiums, Lexus SUVs and Weimeraner puppies.
Before heading out to hike around the neighborhood, I thought it important, first, to get a good pair of walking shoes. Niche, on the corner of North, Milwaukee and Damen, right in the very epicenter of all that is shabby chic, provided the most logical starting point. Obviously since this is at the bull's-eye of the neighborhood, this must be where everyone goes to get their shoes. Two storefronts, one on Damen, the other on North (bookending a Starbucks), join together to form a pleasing, open and inviting little boîte. Stocked with the very best of what Italy and America have to offer, Niche made a few easy sales while I was there. Nearly accosted by the staff upon entering, I knew that I was not in for some power shopping. Soon I walked out with a kicky pair of shoes from the Italian brand Ultra, resembling last season's line from Camper, only more expensive. I was astonished that the protesters were not more sympathetic to the needs of its area merchants. What would Wicker Park do if Niche were displaced?
Soon I was in need of a drink and decided to walk across the street to Pontiac Café on Damen, only to find what was undoubtedly the most important and significant example of public education through the musical arts since PBS brought The Metropolitan Opera to the masses for free. Strolling across the ample courtyard I nearly started to mist up at the sight of nearly 100 white people experiencing reggae. The voices of freedom, the voices of protest picked up by the brothers of Beta Theta Pi and made their own. Yes, they got together and felt all right. After sucking down my $5 beer I brimmed with pride for my fellow brothers and sisters and pitched forth in search of grub.
I didn't have to look far, for across Damen, tucked alongside the friendly neighborhood strip mall was Mod. A more invigorating dining experience I have never had. Escorted through several courses and a mammoth wine list by a phenomenally competent wait staff, I sat back and took in the regal, over-designed surroundings of the neighborhood feed sack. With liquid TV screen blending from murky color to intense hue in the rear, plastic-bagged light bulbs above the bar, remade Philippe Starcke chairs in the front dining room, Mod catered to every design fag's whim. After the down-home goodness of my mac n- cheese (penne baked in marscapone cheese sauce) and sweet corn (silver corn, shaved off the cob and swimming in truffle oil), I was impressed that the bill only set me back about $75. Again, what would the residents of Wicker Park do if places like Mod were relegated to Logan Square or Humboldt Park? Where would they go for a reasonably priced meal?
At the end of my day's travels I began to see myself siding more and more with the rag-tag bunch of protesters down the block. Where in this very real world of ours are we to go if we can't pick up a pair of Italian shoes, rub shoulders with alcohol soaked former frat boys or suck down a bottle of Russian River Merlot on our trek home from the el? I hear next week they want to go slumming down in the 'hood and take in a Cubs game.
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