The cluster of super-tall condo towers marks a symbol of New York's changing character. The proliferating presence of the said buildings has become a means by which foreign plutocrats invade the city by buying property that they will unlikely live in. This marks an increasing enchantment with slender skyscrapers, and, surely, the very first steps of a social change that highlights the line that separates the classes that define American nationalisms. Yes, the global flow of capital that permits the manifestation of this phenomenon has produced some truly abominable buildings. But, as many New Yorkers I know have said, and probably the countless subjects who have lived here throughout the city's history: my old neighborhood, Midtown Manhattan, isn't what it used to be. It is rare to spot locate odes to Midtown's vanishing authenticity as viscerally charge as other neighborhoods have seen. It is, without a doubt, a place that repels many, but is yet entrenched as the bane of many native New Yorkers’ existences. In a sense, it is hard to eulogize a part of time that seems more authentic to its character, even for those who have spent their entire life there. But the charm of the city is ingrained within the memory that lives on inside us, twisted and reconfigured through time. It doesn't necessarily have to be an actual memory. The recognition of a familiar symbol or image through which one can reassert their New Yorker's identity will suffice.