ed. note: This piece was featured as “The Last Word” in RVA Volume 1 Issue 4, published in August 2005. I decided to give it a proper title.
When I moved to Richmond last summer from New York, I hated it. I thought it was boring, run-down, and devoid of character. I was put off by how un-Northern, yet not quite Southern, it is. I scoffed at its weak attempts at nightlife and the lack of a cohesive art scene, despite the presence of VCU’s respectable art curriculum.
And then the unthinkable happened—it slowly grew on me. I realized that the “gray area” that initially perplexed me is exactly what gives Richmond its charm. In other cities I’ve been to across the country, it seems as though everyone’s trying to fit into a scene. And since Richmond doesn’t have too many scenes to speak of… well, it’s really every man for himself. I’ve met self-proclaimed “redneck faggots,” conservatives bearing inked sleeves and studs, shiny-eyed country bumpkins here for the thrills of a “big city,” handfuls of Northern transplants like myself who’ve been there and done that and just want something different. And though the proverbial hipster haircut is still impossible to escape… well, it’s a national crisis, really.
Thriving metropolis it is not, but I began to understand why local college grads end up staying in Richmond—or leaving and returning for life. Cheap rent, sparse traffic, and easy parking make for a virtually stress-free living arrangement. It is small enough to navigate easily, yet big enough to explore, with gems like Hadad’s Lake and the Bellwood Flea Market. Though there isn’t any one spectacular area to bar-hop on a weekend night, I can kill hours at Avalon or A Capella. And I really do think Richmond has some truly respectable and innovative restaurants—too many to list even, from Croaker’s Spot to The Edible Garden. Call me a Yankee, but all the stained-glass rowhouses and community gardens give me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside—not to mention all the independent businesses, like that guy who bakes “bread for the people” in his Church Hill home or Rudy’s Mushrooms, which has every cook in town sporting a T-shirt.
Now new lofts are popping up weekly in old warehouses, and rent is not-so-slowly creeping higher. It’s kind of cool to be living in a place that is on the brink of something bigger… but at the same time, it’s making me kind of nostalgic for an un-cooler Richmond. After all, there is definitely something to be said for the people that choose to live here: we are generally a less concerned, more laid-back kind of folk. We don’t need to live in a major (congested, expensive) city to prove we’re cutting edge or hip. We can sit back right here and do it a short distance from the beach and the mountains, and minutes from a pretty sweet river (if I do say so myself).
Don’t get me wrong—I still hate Broad Street, and the fact that last call is essentially 1:40 (not 2:00) is, at times, too much to handle. But sometimes you want sushi, sometimes you want grits, and sometimes you just want both.
By Veronica Meewes
Photo by R. Anthony Harris
