As I sit here, looking west outside Union Market, I cannot believe how much this place has changed over the years. My typing feels frantic because of the older-yet-hip music blaring out of the speakers. The kind of “it’s been about 10-15 years” type of band that was a hit with some folks and then went away quickly — though they probably still make music– and it’s got kind of a “Flaming Lips, but more accessible” vibe. And right now it’s being blared out of speakers as people buy overpriced lunch items and work on their first sunburn of the year. Pause, check the UV number, which may or may not mean anything: It’s 4, moderate, according to my phone. There is a small recommendation below: use sun protection until 17:00. Yes, I keep my phone on 24-hour time for reasons that are only mildly pedantic and mostly that I got used to it. That’s probably fodder for a future post.

About the view: for years, looking west on Neal Place NE was basically just looking at some sort of alleyway (more on that in a bit) and dilapidated buildings and then kind of a bushy growth (now now) and maaaaybe the New York Avenue bridge (?) and that was about it. 

These days, you look straight into the edge of The Margarite, which must be oriented along Florida Avenue NE and that’s why it’s in the way. (Clarification: The address is on Union Street, but the building conforms to the shape of the railroad tracks and New York Avenue NE. These are the things that bother me and keep me up.)

On either side there are new buildings– all rentals. There is not a co-op building around here to save your life. Someone explained to me a while back that building places that people can buy is not only very expensive, but it’s also not a builder’s favorite thing to do because individuality kind of kills the vibe. So yeah. Unique places to live, just like everywhere else. (If you have a more erudite explanation, please leave it in the comments.)

Now, I don’t want to slam the pretty, generic-chic buildings. They are all actually unique. They are all actually lovely and they smell like different Anthropologie candles and are usually decorated with beautiful and unique pieces of furniture that, when you look them up on a piece-by-piece basis, cost more than what you were able to scrounge up for your IRA donation that year. Some of them are decorated gilded cages and some others have enameled cages. Some opt for mercury glass and others go for an antique, distressed look.I secretly wish I could decorate my own home the way all those beautiful lobbies are decorated and I really wish I could keep my maranta plants alive because I have killed two so far and they are beautiful and it feels like some sort of bad omen.

Oh, and the amenities! Never, ever sleep on the amenities. You can ride Peloton bikes! Rooftop chef’s kitchen! Pet area that will smell like dog bowels and regret in two months flat!

Anyway. None of this is new. Where less than twenty– heck, less than seven– years ago there were a bunch of old, decaying buildings and you could see the rats shopping around for a slightly more full dumpster, you can now see beautiful clone buildings and restaurants that charge for a burger what you may pay for two pairs of pants at Costco on any given day. 

Gentrification is such a strange beast. Was um, “Union Market district” any better when the buildings looked like a fresh gale might knock them over and the rats ruled supreme? I mean, probably not. Generally speaking, I am not fond of rats and most people aren’t– except for those who had a quirky parent and were exposed to the joys of having a rat as a pet and now are the kind of people who make you write in circles and prevent you from issuing blanket statements on the scourge that are rats because ACKCHYUALLY rats are so cute and they are so smart and it’s not their fault, you know?

Listen. It’s no one’s fault but at the end of the day rats are vectors for disease and they will gnaw through everything. If you’re cool with that, well then, good for you.

But yeah. Was it nice to have a collection of humble buildings where you could buy things wholesale? Yes. Yes it was. It wasn’t amazing or incredible, but it was affordable.

Was the Burger King on Florida nice? Not particularly. It always looked like it was on the verge of crisis; it needed a coat of paint badly and the drive-through took forever. The food tasted like your standard-issue Burger King and it was fine. Now we have a gleaming Trader Joe’s with high ceilings where beige-clad girls can buy their overpriced and underscented peonies for $12 for a half-dozen. Is Trader Joe’s bad? No, it’s actually great. Trader Joe’s is… get this: affordable. Maybe not for the peonies, but if I’m being honest, peonies are overpriced down to when you buy the  bulbs, so that’s maybe a peonies thing. But pretty much for meat and veggies and canned goods and many dry goods it’s an incredibly well-priced option. I feel that if I dump on Trader Joe’s a little, the Evil Powers that Be– the ones making everything comically unaffordable– will spare it. We kid because we care and sometimes we kid because a little blood might make the angel of death go away.

Gentrification hasn’t yet taken A. Litteri’s or the restaurant supply store that I love so much I never set foot on it because I know that if I do it will be so horribly addictive that I will wake up on a formerly be-ratted alley clutching $500 of melamine plates, spoon holders and cute glasses of three different sizes for which I have no room in my house. But I know it’s there and I love it from afar. Ours is a forbidden love. 

Gentrification doesn’t work linearly. It zigs and zags, making spaces where it was okay to be underdressed and sweaty places where you’re suddenly in the way of everyone’s Instagrammable moment. It turns the cheapest gas station in the area– so cheap partially because you were at great risk of getting carjacked if you got gas there after midnight– into one of the more expensive ones in the area. I haven’t verified that fact but I just feel it in my bones, ok? Then again, all gas stations in DC proper are expensive so even if I’m not 100% accurate, I’m 100% correct. 

There used to be red clover growing in the lots that lined the east side of Fourth Street NE. Those are now gone. But now there is a constellation of small businesses at Union Market. The parking lot can no longer hold all the visitors on weekends. Thank goodness one of the many shiny buildings has a large parking lot to accommodate the overflow. 

The area used to smell like diesel and piss. Now it smells like diesel, piss, fancy candles, “authentic” pizza and wagyu beef. Some of the charm still remains, stubborn like a stain, and the new buildings have been distressed thoughtfully to look like they belong. There are bits here and there of harmony– of someone meditating on the charm of the area and wanting to preserve bits of it in amber. 

I don’t have a good conclusion here. It’s funny. Union Market was, of course, a wholesale marketplace. It still is a marketplace but now you can get fake designer bags, limited edition hammered earrings, tropical fruit and vinyl records pretty much next door to one another. And you can live in a building with designer views of DC and ride the building’s Peloton bikes. Now, if you ask, “Who may?” then we get into tricky territory. The Margarite’s cheapest offering right now is a 523 square-foot 1-bedroom apartment for $2,320 a month. Actually, it says “from” which means that the price on the website is just a starting point. In a city plagued with a deep and pervasive income inequality and where a dangerously high and growing amount of people pay 50% and more of their income in rent, it’s not hard to realize who is not going to be paying over two thousand dollars a month for a criminally small apartment, even if you can use the Peloton.