There are unspeakable crimes being committed by a perverse and merciless villain across New York City. The attacks can happen anywhere, and for many victims, the anticipation begins to torment more than the crimes themselves. At what point during your already difficult day will you be brought face to face with one of his vacuous slogans? Will you have to worry about one dressed in chalk under your feet as you step out onto the blistering sidewalk in the middle of summer? Can you and your laundry bag backpack make it to last wash four blocks from your apartment without one hissing at you from its perch on the brick of your neighbor’s building? At what moment during your humiliating march across the Pulaski bridge while the G train is down will one leap out at you? At a certain point it doesn’t matter if they are really there or not because they’ve permeated the very air of this city with their hackneyed stench. The most common of these is “Can we still fall in love this summer?” but they run the gamut from much more confusing (“Even if you stayed, I’d miss you”) to cluelessly ironic (“Make the world feel something”) to just plain disgusting (“I make her mind wet.”) Many of them signal self-empowerment in a way that does little else but remind anyone with a shred of actual confidence how commonplace having no sense of identity has become (“I fell for myself this time,” “Finding myself again,” “I’m so lucky to have me”). We must call evil by its name and its name is @7soulsdeep.
For a long time, I thought that the biggest crime being perpetrated by 7soulsdeep was corniness, but deep down I knew there had to be more to it. That crime is ultimately forgivable, not to mention increasingly common as people with taste and talent continue to be priced out of New York. Every time I come across something corny, I am stronger, and it doesn’t get under my skin the way that it used to. What was it, then, that made me so irrationally angry every time I saw one of his tags? I was forced to revisit the question after a particularly bad jumpscare recently: “I’m not hopeless, just romantic.” This one stuck out to me because it almost meant something. There was a sort of earnestness bubbling under the surface, blissfully unaware that it was about to be bludgeoned to death by the fact that it actually meant nothing at all. Someone, I was sure, had said a version of this that carried some weight. Who was a classic writer prone to existentialism and a bit of secret romanticism? When I got home, I asked Chat GPT if there was a Dostoevsky quote with the same sentiment and it spit out the following quote from “White Nights” in seconds flat:
Despite all my previous experiences, despite all my bitter tears and regret, I still cherish an inexplicable faith and a boundless belief in the goodness of life. I always see a light in the distance, a light that keeps me warm and fills me with hope, though I know it may be a mere illusion. I may have lived my life with illusions, but I have never ceased to be deeply and sincerely in love with the life that God has given me, with the belief that there is still something beautiful to be found.
Reading this beautiful passage and taking in its perfectly articulated and objectively corny sentimentality, something clicked for me. I asked Chat GPT what Dostoevsky had to say about honesty and it buffered a bit before giving me a quote, this time from “The Brothers Karamazov”:
Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others.
In his quest to be an artist without having to make any art, 7soulsdeep told himself a lie that has turned into a weapon against the rest of us. There’s disrespect in every one of those ridiculous taglines, aggravated by the handwritten Instagram handle that presumptuously implies we should endure this abuse and follow him on social media. Instead of doing the work of creating something meaningful, he dedicated himself to insisting, which will always be annoying. The satisfaction of this realization was as temporary as the relief from scratching a mosquito bite—especially since I hadn’t even managed to swat the damn thing. The very next day, on my way to work a job that would have me on my feet for ten hours, he struck again. “Can we still fall in love this summer?” was scribbled on the sidewalk, reading oddly like a threat.
Later that day, I walked up to the folding table set up in the production office for the event I was working at and found everything but the veggie wraps had been taken. I picked one up, alongside a single-serve package of vinegar-y hummus and pretzel crisps meticulously engineered to mimic the texture of glass shards. I placed my vegetarian lunch on the table next to two co-workers I didn’t know very well and landed in the middle of a pretty meaty discussion. “So that brings me back to your seven month situationship. Are you going to say something or just let it be?” I breathed in sharply, immediately invested and rooting for this stranger. “I’m just going to let it be,” he let out slowly. “Nothing is wrong, I just have to meet him where he is.” He looked up piously, no doubt seeing a dove fly by the window. I exhaled, disappointed. As they continued to discuss the virtues of accepting less than they deserve and a complicated analogy involving a balloon, I thought about the challenges in my own relationship. It was not about where we were meeting in some abstract ideological place, but where we were meeting in person. Although we first crossed paths at an empty dive bar in Brooklyn on a deliciously sleepy evening leading up to Christmas, he lived in Richmond, Virginia. He was waiting for his lease to end before moving to New York and for the next few months, I traveled a lot to see him.
During my first few trips there, I was often surprised by how often inauthenticity went unnoticed. What do you mean white people are opening up dim sum restaurants? Why are there no gay people at the gay club? Who in their right mind serves a negroni up? A bizarre sort of big city cosplay is common in the newer places in town, and a lot of them look good on the surface until you take a look at the hands. I wasn’t able to get a reservation at the cool new cocktail bar until my third trip, and when I opened the menu, it was filled with relics from 2013 that the server kept calling 'inventive.' If I had a dollar for every time she used that word, it would have easily covered the cost of a bacon fat washed cocktail. At a restaurant with a good reputation, I received shockingly bad service and a mountain of unsalted butter on bread that the European Food Safety Authority would politely ask you to call something else. Lulled into a sense of false security by some pretty good kimchi fries at another place, I ordered glass noodles and instead got cold spaghetti. Looking across the table at the lovely man I was there to visit, I found myself feeling both hopeless and romantic. Go figure.
In true Southern fashion, Richmond needed us to establish some trust before letting its guard down. Little by little, I started finding my spots. The first of these was Garnett’s, a small sandwich shop in Carytown. There are picture frames throughout with old photographs and playful drawings of Southern staples like Coca Cola with peanuts and Duke’s mayonnaise. A bar runs alongside one side, connecting to the kitchen in the back next to an iced tea dispenser and a stack of picnic baskets. For $35 dollars, you can borrow one as part of the ‘date night special,’ which includes two menu items and a bottle of wine. I would soon find out this wasn’t the only place that had the distinct charm of eating at someone’s house. Croaker’s Spot, a soul food restaurant, serves enormous seafood boats and decadent dishes like crab stuffed salmon in a friendly, laid back environment. The portions at Pinky’s are big and the plating unrefined in the way that reminds you that food is meant to be eaten. There are also plenty of options that feel less casual, like L'Opossum, a modern French restaurant that unapologetically puts Weird on display. The decor is purposefully kitschy, and menu items are described in a way that would be annoying if we weren’t all having such a good time (see: Succulent & Tender Roast Chicken Having a Moment of Hygge.) There’s something about eating foie gras sliders off of vintage plates next to a picture of a clown that just feels right. Edo’s Squid is a fantastic Italian restaurant with a great wine list including some of my favorite producers like COS at reasonable prices. Stella’s, a Richmond staple, lured me in with its Greek comfort dishes and won me over with its beverage program, which really commits to the bit. They offer cocktails using ingredients like mastiha, one of my favorite herbal liqueurs, and an impressive selection of Greek wines. I can’t talk about committing to the bit without mentioning Amuse, a restaurant on the third floor of the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts that coordinates the menu with current exhibits. While they were displaying samurai armor downstairs, I enjoyed some truly remarkable Japanese inspired desserts, including miso-chocolate semifreddo and yuzu tiramisu. Other delightful left-field surprises in Richmond included some of the best bagels, croissants, and tacos I’ve ever had.
Of all the places I visited, one stands out to me as the crown jewel of Richmond dining. The Roosevelt is in an old building in Church Hill full of late 18th century charm. The menu is unapologetically Southern, without any of the culturally untethered menu choices of many of the newer spots in town. During my first visit, I had an appetizer of chicken liver pate served with green tomato jam, pickled vegetables, and toasted white bread. Although I’m usually not likely to order pork as an entree, I couldn’t resist the tobacco smoked pork butt. The next time I went, I had a delicately fried catfish served over two sauces, one made of tomatoes and the other cream. I could not get over the dessert I had that night, a cake topped with frosting made of Cheerwine, a cherry flavored soda from North Carolina. This is a restaurant that respects itself enough to know that its point of view will be appreciated by others. They don’t insist on themselves and stand confidently by what they do best.
My first trip to The Roosevelt came at the end of a particularly long stay in Richmond and by the time I returned to New York, I had forgotten about our villain and the fear he once caused me while navigating the city by foot. Excited to be able to get around without a car, I took the long way home from work, crossing the Williamsburg Bridge. I felt a breeze from the East River and cherished a rare peaceful moment in my hometown. Looking down on the pedestrian walkway, I saw a familiar style of writing and every hair on my body immediately stood up on end. I tried to avert my eyes, but it was too late. “Can I still give you herpes this summer?” it read, signed @7ballsdeep. I relaxed and let out a satisfying laugh. Suddenly, honesty was all around me, and it was here to save the day.
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Thank you for reading. You can find work samples and contact information at gabriel-vasquez.com. If you’re just desperate to put a face to a name, you can follow me on Instagram here. Feel free to reach out with any questions, comments, or birthday wishes (beginning tomorrow.) If you’re in Richmond and would like to do a little shopping, I recommend stopping by CobbleStore. Clem stocks amazing vintage finds at really reasonable prices. I’ll be back in your inbox soon!