I’ve been made to feel critical of cool. My reasons are less interesting than I’d like to admit, probably similar to those of anyone who felt like an outsider a little too young. I would like to self-describe as “cool suspicious” — someone who’s a bit mistrustful when approaching something in the realm of dead-center hype. Unfortunately, I have found myself to be incapable of such nuance. Instead, I am a massive hater.
In the much too recent past, I felt a sick sense of joy while arguing against the merits of things that made me feel alienated — something I can now recognize as lowly nerd behavior I should’ve shaken off a decade ago. Nothing is more avoidant than deciding you don’t fuck with something you don’t understand. Although I think it’s important to be skeptical, and that hate can be a powerful tool for criticism, it’s equally important to stay aware of unchecked resentment that keeps you sheltered from possible fun.
A&N Fruit Store is a local bodega and slushie spot tucked in the corner of Essex and Canal, a mainstay of downtown New York’s most controversial neighborhood, Dimes Square. Over the past few summers A&N’s fruit slushies have peaked as a bizarre frozen-over signifier of cool. I embarrassed myself early last summer when I mistakenly DM’d a semi-friend who posted a picture of her slush on her Instagram story: “OMG where is that from??” …. “YOU DONT KNOW WHERE THIS IS FROM???? MACKENZIEEEEEEE… LOLLLL!!!!!”
Served in their now iconic plastic quart containers complete with boba-sized straws, the slushies are often consumed quite publicly due to the wooden pallet seating arrangement cozied up on the sidewalk outside A&N’s front door. For a moment there, an A&N slush was the ultimate accessory, and I can’t deny there’s something oddly JW Anderson about seeing one in hand. In May, Interview posted a photo of Charli XCX walking past Elbow Bakery wearing merch by unofficial Dimes Square media arm Perfectly Imperfect and holding a plastic cup with the caption, “did she get a slush?”
Unfortunately, A&N announced earlier this year that they’ll be closing their doors forever in October to make way for a luxury apartment complex. In the mind of my editor — and as evidenced by recent achievements in fast fashion — this is all part of the ongoing collapse of Dimes Square, a place that thrived under the COVID-era open streets program and all the political disenchantment that followed. I was assigned to chronicle the rise and fall of A&N and review their famed slushie, or something like that. I listened to the details a little less thoroughly than I should’ve, which I guess is a side-effect of being given an opportunity to hate in an elevated arena.
Needless to say, I yes’d almost immediately and began to sink into my familiar safe zone.
As a bonafide hater and fun-cautious person, I thought the story would write itself, so I threw the actual work part on the back burner and paraded the assignment around, telling my friends too loudly in backyards and bars, “I’M WRITING A DIMES SQUARE HIT PIECE FOR HIGHSNOBIETY, IT’S TECHNICALLY A slushie REVIEW BUT YEAH… CRAZY.”
Little did I know that all my talk was just cannon fodder for a cosmic joke aimed at myself.
I don’t know if it’s because I was swept by the thrill of summertime, or if I simply found something potentially life-changing enough to break my hater streak, but, embarrassingly, in late May I began sleeping with the enemy. As my friend Nicole would put it, I started “feverishly making love” with a Dimes Square resident.
I understand how this could be seen as a conflict of interest. I know a lot of you were counting on me to deliver #thetruth, but believe me, if I gave you the detailed logistics of my romance you would COMPLETELY understand my hesitance to stop sleeping next to the white boy with the Precious Moments eyes who wears True Religion jeans from Depop and lives a stones throw from the Cafe Forgot brick-and-mortar.
I won’t take it personally if you think my review of A&N’s famous watermelon slush has no merit now, but isn’t that just how life works? One moment you’re talking your shit at your friend’s birthday party, the next you’re looking like the most promising contestant in 2025’s Miss Beautiful Hypocrite pageant.
I’m doing my best to move as carefully as I can. I didn’t mean to trade my critical lens in for something more rose-colored, but honestly, I think it helps. I have a card-carrying Dimes Square loyalist on my arm helping me ease the tension between the two wolves inside me: The Wounded Outsider and The Bitch Who’s Desperate for Fun. It’s odd how all my preconceived notions of the place broke down each time we exited his apartment. The people I met and the places I went all seemed so small compared to the online fables that had made them so big. Being up close to things and not absolutely hating them makes me wonder what other boxes I’ve built around myself. I can’t deny that my time in Dimes Square has prompted me to hold up the mirror more than once.
I’m trying to be self-aware. Maybe this is just what happens when a nerd finds out that she can hang. Or maybe this is what happens when a weak freak is bribed with sex she can’t refuse. It’s not that I don’t recognize myself; I’m just shocked at how non-exclusive everything seems. It’s not what I anticipated. Maybe that’s because the scene has already petered out and Dimes Square has settled back into being just another part of Chinatown rather than an overhyped, semi-sinister cool kids’ table.
As the season rolled on, I felt A&N gain on me. I never claimed to be a journalist, but I was proving to be a particularly bad one. Every other morning, I’d wake up feet away from the whole point of this piece and would end up walking straight past it, led by the hand I was holding. Sometimes he’d even ask me, “Shouldn’t we go in?” “What about your hit piece?” and I’d shrug it off with a lame excuse before heading to Little Canal for AC.
But the summer only got hotter, and the line outside A&N seemed to only grow longer, attracting a lot more visitors than usual, many of which, because of my prolonged residency, I recognized as tourists or TikTok users. A quick Google search will tell you that A&N’s popularity has recently transcended the neighborhood. In mid-July, a couple of well-subtitled 30-second videos turned their usual charm, labeling A&N a ‘Chinatown hidden gem’ and turning the crowd outside from moderate to unignorable.
I began to feel cornered. I guess in a way I felt as if the spell might break with my first sip; after all, A&N was my only reason for being in Dimes Square initially. So the other morning, before Little Canal, I decided to pop over and do what was right.
They run a tight ship at A&N. It’s hot and sticky, but the staff seems well-versed in herding algorithm-led cattle. I ordered the watermelon because I felt like I had to go with the classic, and that flavor seemed least likely to set off my allergies. (I am allergic to raw fruits and vegetables. Again, I’m learning that I am a bad journalist, basically unfit for any situation that could be thrown at me.)
As I surveyed the scene, the clash felt obvious. Locals passed by barely making eye contact with A&N’s new patronage. Although there wasn’t much to look at; the energy among the slushie drinkers was much lower than I thought it would be. Everyone seemed passive. I wondered if maybe they were subdued by the fading hipness of Dimes Square, or maybe this was an item on their summer bucket list that they’d neglected as well.
At first, when my number was called, I didn’t hear it. I feel embarrassed when people have to yell for my attention more than once. I walked to the window, apologized, found my seat on a pallet, and took my first sip. As I drank, I felt dorky and tourist-like for the first time since my extended hang in Dimes began.
I looked over at the locals, wondering if they thought I was one of them or just another visitor passing through for a geotag. And honestly, I didn’t know what I wanted them to think. I wasn’t even sure if I knew what to think, but part of me was happy sitting there.
The boy I’m sleeping with filmed me on his iPhone as I took several pulls of my drink. And while I contorted my face at the camera, none of my opinions or weird hangups about this stupid neighborhood seemed to matter. I thought, maybe this is how everyone should feel about the places they frequent: just indifferent enough to enjoy being there. As for the slushie, it was fine. I have no hard feelings.
