Nyc’s new money drama: a mid-thirties obsession
Growing up on the Upper West Side, I vowed to escape the suffocating drama of Manhattan’s elite. But now, in my thirties, I’m inexplicably hooked on ‘Next Gen NYC,’ a reality series following the dizzying lives of Gen-Z influencers and the children of New York’s established families.
A familiar echo of privilege
It’s bizarre, isn’t it? The impulse to watch these kids – Emira D’Spain, Ava Dash, Brooks Marks – flit between the Jersey Shore and galas at the Frick – a compulsion that triggers a disconcerting recognition of my own past. I wasn’t exactly thriving in my prep-school environment, earning mediocre grades outside of English and struggling to connect with my classmates. I blamed New York for my adolescent failures – a shallow, cliquish world obsessed with status and parental wealth.
Echoes of ‘nyc prep’
Suddenly, watching ‘Next Gen NYC’ feels like confronting a distorted mirror. It’s a stark reminder of ‘NYC Prep,’ a short-lived Bravo series from almost two decades ago that captured the humiliating excesses of privileged teens. Seeing Camille and Taylor – my former classmates – and their peers publicly embarrass themselves in early high school was oddly compelling. Back then, I genuinely believed they were modeling the only acceptable path for a New York teen: rich, popular, and infamous.
Beyond the surface
But now, I see the upside of a relatively ‘normal’ upbringing, a stark contrast to the vodka-soaked nights and unidentified drugs I witnessed among my prep-school peers. Frankly, I’m surprised I haven’t grown out of it. I’m still devouring every episode with a disturbing level of attention. And, let’s be honest, the mystery surrounding Charlie Zakkour’s involvement in that SoHo crypto ‘torture house’ – a detail nobody seems willing to discuss – is utterly captivating.
A reluctant observer
These kids aren’t my generation. Many aren’t even born in New York. Yet, their world, with its lavish displays of wealth and carefully curated Instagram feeds, holds a strange allure. I don't care what they're up to these days, and I certainly don’t need to know. But the compulsion to watch ‘Next Gen NYC’ persists, a quiet acknowledgment that, perhaps, parts of me are still trapped within the echoes of my past.
A quiet admission
I won’t say I’ve truly moved on. Not yet, anyway. The next time a New York rich-kid reality show airs, and I’m still compulsively watching it, then maybe – just maybe – I'll finally be free.”n