I decided to live in San Francisco when I came to see BYOBW (Bring Your Own Big Wheel), a race where grown adults dress in costumes such as Amy Winehouse and Captain Caveman. These adults then ride Big Wheels down a steep hill. "A city with a sense of humor," I thought. After 17 years of stressful toil in New York and Tokyo, I needed a change of pace.
After three days of intense search on Craigslist I had my first room, a cubbyhole in misty Ingleside. Alas, though San Francisco's humorous elements drew me to her, there were many days that the joke was on me. I thought I knew what to expect in San Francisco; however, I was hoodwinked by the city it turned out I didn't know. So I write this essay as a caveat. A warning, if you will, to people relocating to San Francisco from New York City �" or London or Hong Kong, basically any massive world metropolis with bustling streets and reliable mass transit. I single out New Yorkers because I believe a lot of them consider a move to San Francisco.
New Yorkers can escape their cynical island and imagine a bobo fantasy of endless bottles of Napa Cabernet, high-paying tech jobs, and a platoon of new gay friends who will squeal with delight upon meeting their own personal Carrie Bradshaw. You, the former New Yorker, will slim down to Size 0 riding a bicycle to work everyday in San Francisco. At night, you'll knock back PBRs with asymmetrically-coifed hipsters who will worship you at some divey Mission bar.
This is an exciting time to be in the Bay Area. Thanks to the innovators at corporations such as Google, Facebook and Apple, I believe our generation will see San Francisco's metamorphosis from a spunky provincial center to a major world megalopolis. If you are part of the cool club at Twitter or hobnobbing at YouTube, you probably love life. Or at least you pretend to love life, since most people are jealous of you.
However, if you aren't part of this hipster, tech-yuppie crowd, well frankly, San Francisco can suck donkey balls. Remove its veil of techno snob bliss, then you see the city as an overpriced, cultural backwater with major transportation problems. Forget the bobo dream of bicycling to work, after a year of unemployment looking for work in the city I had to take a job in the South Bay. For me that meant I spent two to three hours a day commuting in a clunker car that I couldn't upgrade because I was living paycheck to paycheck.
Between the gays and the hippies, San Francisco appears to be the beacon of tolerance and acceptance for the civilized world. Truly if you are gay and coming from Flyover USA, then you might feel safer and more at home here �" born in Missouri myself, I sympathize. You'll come to San Francisco with visions of Harvey Milk rainbows and Pride Parade unicorns, but sadly you won't afford to live anywhere near the gay enclaves of Castro or South of Market. Don't worry, I'm sure there are gays in Daly City or Oakland or wherever you end up.
I got a close-up look at the gnarly-toothed bigotry when I did some political canvassing for a group that supports gay rights. Standing out on the street flagging people with my clipboard a zaftig woman in a floral print dress (obviously bridge and tunnel) turned to me and snapped, "You need to stop that, get down on your knees and pray!" Another day, a passerby traumatized a Latino canvasser by heckling him to see his green card despite the fact he was very much born in Estados Unidos. On one hand, I saw the generosity of the people here: the residents of San Francisco opened up and gave out hundreds of dollars to politically progressive causes on the street. However, the money was not won without coming across a few racially or homophobically-charged barbs from buffoons as they trotted past.
San Francisco made me less hung up on outward appearances. I do miss the motivation I used to have in Tokyo or New York to put together fabulous outfits. If you live for the excitement of New York's fashion, just run away now. Move to Tampa. Move to Saskatchewan. Almost anything could be better than the "anti-fashion" certain San Francisco residents wear, which consists of ugly tattoos, oversize hoodies, and hideous pumpkin-orange Giants baseball caps.
San Francisco made me healthier, because I'm less stressed out. I've even quit smoking (unless I'm drunk in the Castro). The time efficiency issue carries over into why the city requires you to own an automobile. Truly, unless you are fortunate enough to live and work near BART stations (good luck with that), you will probably need a car if you have a career here. BART trains zip along quickly, but the Muni trains alone will not get you where you need to go in any timely manner.
One great thing about San Francisco is the open-mindedness regarding sex. I have a theory that living in San Francisco makes people one level kinkier. Gay guys will lapse and try women. Straight guys will lapse and try men. Don't even ask me about lesbians, because in San Francisco their Lesbolicious misadventures mutate into kink of mammoth proportions. Sexual orientation is even less an issue than in New York �" if you can imagine that. It's almost sexual disorientation. I'm even having reverse kink guilt syndrome, since I want to fit in with all the kinky fetish types. Is it wrong I have no desire to be fisted? Why don't I want to wear a ball-gag and a wagging dogtail buttplug? Should I want to join the Furries? What the fuck is a Furry? I think I'll try something moderately tame, such as shrimping, just to fit in.
My move to San Francisco was good though. I might be bored sometimes, but the city allowed me to evolve. Provincial San Francisco still sits firmly on the B-List of America's cities, but San Francisco allows many people to hold on to a type of kindness that is too often suffocated in larger and more cosmopolitan cities. Except when you're stuck behind some endless conversationalist at Walgreens.
Charles Ayres is the author of the critically-lauded memoir Impossibly Glamorous. It is now available in paperback or as an ebook.