Living in a Poor City Fucking Rocks

I don’t recommend living by wealthy people

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The wealthy have it made. Millions and mansions, nightlife, and pretty lights. Rich people have it all, and they fucking know it.

I miss living in a poor city.

I grew up in Rockford, Illinois. It’s a city that consistently ranks very highly in the lists of the most impoverished, most obese, least educated, and most dangerous cities in the country.

But honestly, it’s a pretty nice place to live.

The park district is lovely, the downtown area is undergoing a revival, and every Friday during the summer, there’s a weekly festival called the City Market that has food trucks, craft beer vendors, and live music. There’s a lot going for the city of Rockford.

On top of that, the people are really nice and down to earth. I know it’s a cliché, and it seems like people say that about every city. For most of my life, I thought it was just assumed that most people would be nice wherever you go.

But then I began living amongst the wealthy. That has been eye-opening.

Elitism is no fucking joke. Where I live, the sense of entitlement people walk around with is palpable. The wealthy people I’ve met genuinely don’t believe that familial wealth, better-funded school districts, and professional connections don’t afford them opportunities people living in poorer areas don’t have access to.

They can be slapped in the face with cold, hard data that says increasing school funding by just 2 percent can result in almost a 1 percent decrease in dropout rate (Chalkbeat.org), and they wouldn’t care.

It’s very much a “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps” crowd.

And the way they talk about disadvantaged people and the homeless makes me queasy. I have had to listen to the elitist think tank I work with go on ignorant tirades about how poor people just need to work harder, and how they can’t stand looking at homeless people. You know, all the classic rich people phrases. They really manage to hit all the classics.

But in Rockford, I rarely heard any of that. In my experience, whether it be because of shared struggle, exposure to many others struggling, or even just not having enough money to talk any shit themselves, people living in poorer areas are generally kinder and more empathetic about other people’s struggles.

Rockford, my favorite impoverished city, is just a much better environment to be in. And I know I’m biased, but trust me, it is a much better place to live. To illustrate my point, I’m going to describe one night out I had in Rockford and one night out I had amongst the wealthy.

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Night out with the wealthy

During my first night out in downtown Naperville, Illinois, my first impression was, “Woah, this shit is fancy.” There was this luxurious riverfront walkway and high-end shops. There were even fancy restaurants that even had a valet. Now that shit really blew my mind.

But as the night went on, I couldn’t help but grow to despise the city and everything it stood for. Everywhere I went, I was accosted by another thing that made me hate the world.

Karen’s giving people icy stares. Frat bros clogging the entire sidewalk. Douchebags who were peacocking on those three-wheeled motorcycles with bright blue, custom light strips. And, of course, white people confidently rapping ALL of the lyrics to hip-hop songs. And I’m sure you know exactly what I mean when I say ALL of the lyrics.

One particular person that really sticks out in my mind was this dad I saw. He was out walking with his son, wearing what I had to imagine was a luxury, designer onesie, and he just left his very young child on the corner of a busy intersection, all by himself, to go and get a Starbucks coffee.

And if you’re like me, you’re now thinking, “Why didn’t he just bring the child in with him?” And that is a fabulous question and is, unfortunately, one that I cannot answer.

But this was a clear example of someone who appears to have everything, and all he seemed to be able to think about was how the world revolves around him. He wasn’t even thinking about his own child’s safety at that moment.

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Night out in Rockford

Rockford, on the other hand, supplied a magical night out. To set the scene, me and my sister went out to the City Market I mentioned earlier. We unfortunately got there just after it closed, so we didn’t get to experience that food truck bliss.

But we were determined to find a good spot to dine at. So we started walking around the main downtown stretch, and we bumped into these people who were clogging up the sidewalk. The biggest bro of the bunch, after laying eyes on us, just yelled out, “Yo! Do you like art?”

Obviously, that’s an unexpected thing to hear from such a brotastic specimen. He was advertising this pop-up art show he and his pals put together. And, of course, it featured free food and booze. You can bet we were intrigued.

But before we could decide for ourselves if we wanted to go in, their whole crew started herding us into the show like cattle.

And it was really cool. Now, I’m not going to sit here and pretend to know all about abstract art, so the actual art portion of the show was a little forgettable for me.

They had this guy walking around with a tray of fancy pizza squares that were absolutely to die for. And we met this other art bro who pointed to a painting that was textured and extruded out of the page, and he asked us, “Isn’t this sick? I wonder how long that took to dry?”

Everyone there, even amongst the high-end art show crowd, was surprisingly down to earth. Everyone there really genuinely loved art. It was a cool environment.

However, we quickly left because we still hadn’t found a place to eat.

So we started walking around downtown Rockford, trying to find a place with a vibrant vegan menu that would be open for dining at 9:30 p.m.

And on our walk, we passed a man blasting his favorite tunes for everyone to hear while vigorously talking to either himself or the voice on the phone. We passed the beautiful riverfront and dazzling, towering murals. And we passed a very spooky, dimly lit construction site that you would slam your car into at night if you didn’t turn your brights on. And we passed all of this en route to a chic yet still hip and modern restaurant that served amazing fruity cocktails.

When we left, we walked past an old man sitting on a bench outside of a retirement community, just casually reading a newspaper while a raccoon was eating garbage seven feet away from him.

And that was two hours.

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This is why I love living in poor cities. It is SO much more interesting, and the people tend to be substantially less hateful. And overall, it’s just more fun.

When I finally leave this godforsaken, wealthy hellscape I live in, I promise you I will never miss the snootiness. I will never miss the elitist flaunting of privilege. And above all else, I will never miss living amongst the wealthy.

So take it from me: the next time you get scared off by something being in a “bad neighborhood,” think about all the memorable experiences you might be missing out on.

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