You know how peeps are always like, “Ooh, Gay Par-ee!!! So purty and stuff!!!” In my admittedly limited exposure to the City of Lights, I can say that Paris is, in fact, gorgeous. But it’s gorgeous in the way that someponies think New York City is gorgeous. In fact, the part of Paris where I’ve been staying and working reminds me a bit of Brooklyn. That is, if Brooklyn was comprised exclusively of Cobble Hill, Boerum Hill and Prospect Park.
Still, even though I intellectually understand that I should be in lurve with Paris, we just sorta have a non-commital thang going on. Don’t get me wrong, I’m in frackin’ Paris for Christ’s sake! And it’s gorgeous! And the eats are amazeballs!!! But I can’t help but compare my experience in Paris with my experiences in Milano.
For all of Milano’s weirdness (and the city is totes weird), I’m basically in love with Milano. Like, I could totes live in Milano. Like, I want to hang in Milano and eat gelato and go shopping All Day Long. While Madrid (or the parts that I saw) were awight, like a Northern California dude who’s chillaxed but has kind of a dark side, the place doesn’t really do it for me. And Paris is sort of like that very handsome, well-kept gentleman who knows four languages, but rolls his eyes at everything that you say.
Milano, though, is like the artsy-fartsy guy who has a beard and a potbelly from eating too much pasta, but also has a heart of gold and has really great taste in, like, everything. Yeah, I’ll take that guy.