In the suburbs, old men yell at the youth to “get off their lawns.” In the West Village, they yell at hordes of Carrie fanatics to get off their stoops. Tomayto, tomahto. The residents at 66 Perry Street know this struggle all too well. Since Sex and the City premiered in 1998, throngs of enthusiasts have been gathering on and around their porch in ever-increasing numbers, so much so that a few years ago, the owners put up a tiny chain to serve as a barrier to their front door.
Now, the tenants of Perry Street are waging an all-out war. This week, one of the tenants opened the French doors to the building to implore the crowd that had gathered to take photos and ogle at the steps, where Carrie made many a catastrophic decision, to disperse. “This is not empty; it’s a private home,” he yelled to the fans. “And remember, it’s not Carrie’s, it’s mine.” He then bid the horde a good day. Since January, the owner of the building has been petitioning to build a proper gate in front of the home, writing a letter to the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission to grant them the ability to do so. And honestly, I feel sorry for these folks. Imagine stepping over fawning millennials every single time you need to buy toilet paper. Accidentally being in the background of their Instagram posts. Waking up in the middle of the night to drunk Gen-Z kids reenacting the scene where Patrick Casey screams, “Carrie, I love you!” up at her window. Understandably, the owner was granted permission to build the gate.
“At any hour of the day or night, there are groups of visitors in front of the house taking flash photos, engaging in loud chatter, posting on social media, making TikToc videos, or just celebrating the moment,” the letter to the commission reads. What is clear is that he would like to put this whole Carrie fiasco behind him. He’s more of a Miranda anyway.