Girlwich

New York has a weird reputation, and I don't just mean that it has a reputation for weirdness. I mean that its reputation both reflects and completely misses describing its reality. Visitors to our fair burgh are often surprised by how friendly we are. They ask for directions, or just look lost and have directions volunteered by a fellow subway rider or passer by, and then they are shocked at how nice some stranger is being to them.

One of my old friends from childhood visited here a few years ago and I met her at the Empire State Building, and the whole time she was terrified that she was going to be mugged. So frightened that she could hardly enjoy anything.

And I thought, sheesh. What a bad rap we all have.

When I look around, I just see my home - my favorite places all stacked closely together on one little island like so many multicolored Legos. But when I go to take photographs, and then I look at what I've got later, I also see a little evidence of what maybe some folks find intimidating about us. We have some serious 'tude, baby. We swear a lot. We aren't shy about bitching in somebody's face if they've done us wrong. We can be loud, or brash, or just tough-looking. We swagger. And we are stealth.

At a cafe the other day, Harrison Ford was having brunch two tables away. My date and I noticed when he came in, discussed it quietly, under our breaths, acknowledging to each other that we were excited but also playing it very cool. We stole a few glances, agreed that he'd have been less conspicuous if he'd just taken his sunglasses off when he came in, like ordinary mortals do, and went back to our brunch. When the people at the table next door got up and asked for his autograph, we shook our heads discreetly at each other. The man was just trying to have a quiet brunch with his family, after all.

When we got up, I carefully avoided looking at the Ford contingent, because I'd had my peek and didn't want him to feel intruded upon. A lot of celebrities choose to live in NYC, and I suspect that one of the reasons they do is that they can move about relatively freely here. I've seen quite a few famous people on the street: Gwyneth Paltrow, Robin Williams, Willem Dafoe. In most cases I don't notice until they are right in front of me, and my first thought is often that it's someone I know, and as I raise my hand to wave hello, I realize that it's not, in fact, a friend of mine, but someone whose face I've seen on movie screens or magazine covers.

So I put my hand down, take a quick look, and keep walking. Famous folks benefit, I think, from the justly renowned NY Cool. Yeah, we may get excited about having brunch two elbows away from Harrison Ford, but we keep that to ourselves. We wait till we hit the street to chatter like magpies and speculate and buzz. Why? I don't know, other than to theorize that it's maybe a side effect of living in such a crowd, always. Cheek by jowl doesn't begin to cover it. We are always and forever surrounded by other humans. When we are having sex, there's invariably another couple upstairs doing the same thing, often just as loudly. When we are in the bathroom, there is someone just the other side of the wall. When we're in the subway, there are myriad strangers jostling us. When we walk down the street, we have to constantly bob and weave to get anywhere.

What all that togetherness creates, if you ask me (or practically anyone) is a great regard for privacy. Ours; our neighbors'; Harrison Ford's. Even if one could fit six people into one's tiny studio apartment, dinner parties are always held Out. Inviting someone into your apartment is a huge step, usually embarked upon only after either knowing the person for years or in the interests of getting laid.

It can feel as if you are inviting them to climb into your very skin.

We look a little tough because we have evolved a protective layer. It's not opaque, and it's not even necessarily hard. It's just a little shield, like they put around the Enterprise - a line of first defense.

The surprising thing to me is that, as a photographer, I get to witness that magical openness to strangers that is also part of the New Yorker's makeup. I ask if I can take their photos, and they almost always - really almost always - say yes. And then they show you the face they want the world to see. Tough, humorous, wry, shy. Compelling, isn't it?