Follow the Artists, Part 2

Of the 25 neighborhoods I've called home in my life, the one that still holds my heart is the West Village in New York City. I first landed there in 1988, drawn in by my life as a jazz musician and college student at the New School. Back then, the neighborhood felt like it had more jazz clubs, bars, musicians, artists, and affordable restaurants per square block than anywhere else in the world. It also had fewer of a particular type of Wall Street transplant that would later redefine much of downtown Manhattan.

The West Village is a landmark district, which means change happens slowly—if at all. The history, architecture, and spirit of the place are preserved as much as possible. But, like everywhere, time leaves its mark.

Many of my old haunts are gone—The Village Gate, Sweet Basil, the Village Diner—but some have held on. The charm, the small side streets, the impossibly narrow townhouses, the feeling that you're tucked away from the rest of the city—that remains.

I remember looking at a Jane Street townhouse in the late '80s, renting for just $1,000 a month. That same place now sells for over $15 million. If I had been a little?more forward-thinking, a little more risk-taking, I'd have bought up whatever I could get my hands on.?But hindsight is a tricky thing—and I was a broke college kid on a student visa, so this may have been more of an outright fantasy than hindsight.

It's not so much that the buildings have changed—it's the people. That Jane Street townhouse, once home to four broke but brilliant artists, is now a part-time residence for a hedge fund billionaire who spends maybe two months a year there. That's the story of the West Village in the 21st century: the bones stay the same, but the soul? That depends on who's moving in.

Yet, there's something resilient here. The landmark status has kept developers at bay, which means there's less glass and steel, more brick and ivy, fewer high-rises, and more pre-war walk-ups and lofts. In a city obsessed with tearing down and rebuilding, the West Village has remained its own little world.

Most developers hate preservation commissions because they're restrictive. But for every "lost opportunity" they complain about, a piece of history—and the soul of the neighborhood—remains untouched.

Side Bar:

I recently read?High Rise—How 1000 Men and Women Worked Around the Clock for Five Years and Lost $200 Million Building a Skyscraper?by Jerry Adler. It's a fascinating deep dive into New York real estate madness, the kind of?story that makes you shake your head at the sheer scale of money burned. One detail stuck with me: the huge missed opportunity on the corner of 45th and Broadway, a glaring reminder of what happens when bad?planning with no oversight meets big ambition. In a city that's always building, razing, and reimagining itself, it's rare to find places like the West Village—where, for better or worse, some things actually stay the same.?

Let’s do this!?

Shaun