I just don’t get what people see in most Hollywood stars. I know, I know, doesn’t that make me special and unique, yadda yadda, but hear me out. What exactly is attractive about someone who has a perfect body and a perfect face and perfect clothes, and is perfectly unattainable?
Marvel’s hunks are meant to be enticing but I struggle to see what’s so appealing about them. There’s something so smooth and shiny about them; they’re flawless, sure, but I would argue that it isn’t a good thing. Grit is what makes people attractive; small details you notice over time, quirky features you can’t help but find appealing.
It’s also why Vienna just keeps leaving me cold. I went there for the first time a few years ago and found myself thoroughly underwhelmed by it. I wrote about it in these very pages, and concluded that it was “a place that decided, at some point, to go to war against the passing of time. The buildings look the same now as they did then, nothing has changed, nothing has ever changed, nothing will ever change.”
Nothing is out of place in Vienna, and nothing looks like it has aged, and I just found that too offputting. Still, I went back: Egon Schiele is my favourite painter and, for my 33rd birthday, I decided to try to see as many of his drawings and paintings as possible. That part of the trip was a success: I spent a morning at the Leopold Museum which left me so overwhelmed that I then left, blinking at the sunlight, and struggled to find my way to the restaurant I’d booked for lunch.
The rest of the trip, though? Well. The less is said about it, the better. By the end of those ludicrously short 48 hours, I was pining for the airport in the way one would yearn for a lover. Vienna and I just don’t get along, is the thing. That doesn’t make it a bad city per se, and I wouldn’t tell people not to go. My experience was entirely personal and, if nothing else, ended up making me think about the choices we make, and the affinities we develop.
It may seem like an odd thing to say, but I increasingly believe that cities are like people. Sometimes we see or meet someone who ought to be perfect on paper, either as a romantic partner or a friend, but we just can’t make it click. It’s not our fault and it’s not theirs either. The same can happen with places.
I can tell you, for example, that I enjoyed Buenos Aires without loving it, but instantly adored Santiago de Chile. I am yet to feel like I get Manchester, despite having been there a dozen times, but Leeds immediately burrowed its way into my heart. I went to Brussels for the first time in 2017 and when I went to bed that very first night, I thought about the fact that the city somehow already felt like home. I enjoy Edinburgh but Glasgow is the one I would want to go home to. Marrakech is the city my family’s roots are in, but Tangier is where I truly feel like myself.
Crucially, I’m not sure I could explain why I feel the way I do. There doesn’t seem to be a formula that can explain just why I love some cities and could happily live out the rest of my days without going back to others. I know I instinctively will often prefer a place that is near the sea, but that isn’t a rule without exceptions. For the most part, I tend to like it when a city is a bit messy, and a bit chaotic, but again: that doesn’t quite explain it all.
This ought to be good news. Life is at its most stimulating when it is unpredictable, and what a thrill to think that I just can’t guess whether I’ll like a city or not until I go there. What a thrill! There’s also no point in trying to canvas opinions before going. I once had to spend a weekend in Scarborough for work, and friends warned me that I was in for a terrible time. In the end, I had an absolute ball. I would return to Scarbados in a heartbeat.
It’s also worth remembering that, if cities are like people, then some lessons can apply to both. I loathe dating apps because they force people to think too hard about exactly what they want, instead of letting themselves get carried by the current. I’m also troubled by post-pandemic shifts in working patterns, as I think that life benefits from rubbing up against people you wouldn’t normally meet.
In short: I just really hate Vienna even though I always assumed I’d love it, and that’s terrific. It means I need to keep leaving my comfort zone, because my comfort zone just isn’t where I’m guaranteed to be happiest. I think you should do the same too; you may be surprised by what you find out there.
