Growing up in Brownsville, murder capital of the city, where the rest of New York can feel as far away as the moon.
Jack Antonoff plays guitar in the platinum-selling band fun., dates Lena Dunham, and only just stopped having his parents pay for his dental work.
The father-son development team that helped create the new Brooklyn has scant patience with the mayor from Park Slope.
Washington despised Eric Cantor, and he it, though apparently not enough.
At Eight Spruce Street, the Frank Gehry-designed 76-story residential building.
A preshow meal with the legendary diva, back on Broadway.
College students swarm the gridlocked capital for the summer, armed with hope for bipartisanship, personal talking points, and brand-new suits.
Bill de Blasio’s plan to take Brooklyn progressivism national.
Why does so much new abstraction look the same? Because buyers like it that way.
Dafoe and Baryshnikov, acting (and dancing!) together at BAM.
All gore, few insights. Why the tragedies almost never work anymore.
Ten book titles you’ll likely be seeing a lot of a couple of months from now, in store windows and probably on best-seller lists.
God declines to rapture a mopey Justin Theroux in The Leftovers.
Roman Polanski self-flagellates with Venus in Fur.
A simpleminded Robert Pattinson is committed but unconvincing in The Rover.
Tilda Swinton is the sole note of transcendence in Snowpiercer.
The Philharmonic cements its move into new-music territory at the biennial.
Twenty-five things to see, hear, watch, and read.
The father and daughter who captured Yves Saint Laurent’s 40-year career.
Readers sound off on Shailene Woodley, our Health Issue, and more.
Figure out the hidden theme to win a New York subscription.
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Our deliberately oversimplified guide to who falls where on our taste hierarchies. Roll over the images for related links.
The goal: Find the ideal potting soil for fire-escape menageries or raised rooftop beds.
“For a second, I thought, Okay, if this gallery doesn’t work out, maybe I can be a dentist.”
Tavern on the Green’s revival falls flat.
Ample Hills’ Brian Smith explains their “It Came From Gowanus” dark salted-chocolate-fudge ice cream.
Thanks to the rise of microbreweries with on-site taprooms, it’s possible to embark on the hops-and-malt-driven equivalent of a wine-tasting weekend.
Uncrowded flea markets, balloon rides, buffalo frogs’ legs.
There’s a reason the guy with the man-bun on your morning commute has been showing up with muddy orange splotches on his jeans.