Suitors, listen up! When you’re thinking about asking for my hand in marriage, don’t propose on a beach. Don’t propose at a football game. Don’t you dare propose at a concert. Please, I beg of you, propose at the Times Square Olive Garden.
I have delivered this hot take to my family and friends time and time again, often receiving gasps or eye rolls. It’s frequently met with an, “Are you kidding?” to which I reply very dead pan, “Absolutely not.” There would be something incredibly novelty and chic about getting proposed to at one of the highest-volume restaurants in the world. It would reveal that love can survive any battle, including the ultra-creamy natural laxative that is Olive Garden’s alfredo sauce. Moreover, it would be in the Times Square. C’mon, it would give you a gag-worthy story of a lifetime.
Every year, thousands make the pilgrimage to Times Square to celebrate New Year’s Eve. People from all over come in droves, bundled up in their coats and forgoing a bathroom for hours, to see a minuscule ball drop or to catch a glimpse of Andy Cohen and Anderson Cooper get absolutely hammered on live television. Most New Yorkers avoid the area in days prior and following, myself included, but every year, people check something off their bucket lists at this very place. To me, that feels quite magical.
As a resident of Hell’s Kitchen, I’m blocks from the ultra-lit, furry-ridden area. Thankfully, I live on a quiet street that feels far away from what most would describe as a live circus, but I do travel into the chaos often to see Broadway shows or take the NQRW trains. I’ve had wild dates at Margaritaville (green flag) and sang “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere” with tourists at the establishment. I do dread my trips east, worried that a towering M&M may eat me, but I’ve never been able to shake the thought that there’s something so special, something truly unique about midtown.
A journey into the city center in November 2019.
Growing up in Iowa, my eyes were opened on my first trip to New York. I first came to this city on a high school choir trip. We went to Central Park, took a cruise around the Statue of Liberty, and adventured to the top of the Rock, hitting up all of the “must dos” for New York. We stayed at the Westin Times Square, and some of the students snuck out in the middle of the night to just take in the bright lights. I remember being gagged that there was a Starbucks in the hotel, something that would never happen in the super-suburban Des Moines. I saw places I only had seen in movies, like Mistress America or Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. This place was real. I took in the opportunity.
In New York, I could shop at any store, not the limited selection of stores there were at the Jordan Creek Mall. Right outside of our hotel room there was an H&M, a Sephora, a Disney store, all just a walk away. As a Broadway nerd, The Lion King and, at the time, Matilda, were right down the street, musicals I had always wanted to see. We stopped by the MET Opera, which proved to me that classical singing could be a valid career. Most of our trip was centered around Times Square, and that was enough to convince me: I had to move to this city some day.
My mom, Stacee, visits New York for the first time.
For many others, Times Square serves a similar purpose. It is the entry point to this city. It’s the place where, for transplants, dreams start to become a reality. You let yourself wildly imagine what your brownstone in Chelsea may look like or your future life on stage. You see the power of the American theater, centered around only a few blocks. You stand outside TV show sets and witness others having the time of their lives. For most who don’t reside in the city, Times Square is a place of joy, somewhere to visit, and an important place to check off a list.
When my mom came to New York for the first time in her life a few years back, we took a saunter over to those few blocks on Seventh Ave. I was treated with a brief moment of reverie, seeing her eyes light up, completely over-stimulated by everything happening. I could see myself again, the young high school boy whose dreams eclipsed that of his mid-sized city. It may be cliché, but Alicia Keys was right, New York really is the “concrete jungle where dreams are made,” and Times Square serves as its beating heart.