Some people meditate. I go stare at expensive metal I will almost definitely never own. This is my little cars-and-car-adjacent loop: a museum in a ghost subway station, the auto-show chaos at Javits, and that wild stretch of 11th Avenue where every other doorway is a different badge. It’s very "look, don’t touch"—and honestly, that’s enough.
Like someone crossed a design magazine with a pit lane. Half the room is people pretending not to gawk at the cars, half is people pretending not to gawk at each other. Go for a drink at sunset and let the Hudson and the tail lights do their thing.
Yes, it’s mostly trains and buses, but the old subway cars and signage scratch the same itch as a good classic car lineup. It feels like time travel with better typography. Plus, you walk out actually loving the MTA for like… thirty whole minutes.
Home base for the New York International Auto Show, a.k.a. car nerd Comic Con. One weekend a year it turns into a sea of concept lights and sales reps in identical suits. The rest of the time I walk past and remember the noise and the new-car smell like a
Two floors of star badges and leather that probably has its own passport. It’s right off the West Side Highway, so the whole thing feels like a pit stop for very successful people on their way to very mysterious meetings.
TheLysts
