I'm Not a Tourist! Oh, Wait...

Yesterday, I was reading Chicago Magazine and was struck by the the very last article in the issue. In it, Jeff Ruby tries to figure out if he “qualifies” as a Chicagoan. A transplant to the city, he’s lived here for twelve years now, and still can’t find a conclusive answer to the question, “Am I a Chicagoan?” Recently, I’ve spent some time trying to determine how I feel about Chicago tourists, and whether or not I’m still essentially just a tourist myself.

Last night, Liz and I went shopping in my neighborhood, which happens to be a posh, touristy kind of area (believe me, I do not live in a posh, fancy kind of place, but a modest apartment complex which happens to be in an area where, I believe, most everyone makes infinitely more money than I do). After browsing through our favorite shops, Liz and I decided to stop someplace nice for a cocktail.

Now, Liz couldn’t remember the name of the place she wanted us to go to, but she remembered what it looked like and she had recently read that they had the best cocktails in the city. So, we were sort of wandering about looking a bit uncertain when two middle-aged men called out to us and asked us what it was we were trying to find. I noticed, immediately, that they assumed we were tourists by the way they spoke down to us from their voices of “true” Chicago wisdom. Almost as immediately, I became insulted and defensive. First off, I don’t feel as though I looked like a tourist (okay, aside from the whole walking about aimlessly part) and second of all, I don’t want to look like a tourist. I mean, here they were trying to give us directions to places in my own neighborhood. Of course, the thing that really irked me about this was that I knew I had no right to be exasperated, because, I’m ashamed to say, I don’t actually know my own neighborhood that well, yet. Maybe I am little more than a tourist. I’ve only lived in Chicago for about nine months total, and I’ve spent a mere two months in this neighborhood (and only about one if you subtract all the time I was spending in Oak Park). Really, the frustration that these men were eliciting from me was a result of my increasing awareness of my own ignorance about the place where I live!

As they continued to spout off about how touristy this area is, how if we were looking for drinks we were headed in the wrong direction, and how the next batch of bars was several blocks away (and we’re tourists so, of course, we must have been looking for a street full of bars), and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, I felt increasingly annoyed. When they finally stop talking and headed back in the opposite direction, I experienced this fleeting, sinking feeling that, to many Chicagoans, I'm really not any different than one of those ridiculous Segway tour group members that ride so absurdly through my neighborhood.

But, then I got to thinking about it. And one of the best things about Chicago is that no one ever completely stops being a tourist (okay, unless maybe you’ve actually lived here your entire life, which is a small minority of the city’s population). Everyone I know puts on their tourist shoes, whips out their cameras, and gladly partakes in all the touristy activities the very second anyone from out of town shows up. After all, when else do you have the excuse to take pictures of your reflection in the Bean, ride around on a tour boat looking at architecture, or spend all day shopping on Michigan Ave.? Granted, no one needs an excuse to do these things, but when you live here, often times you avoid the “touristy” things and try to find the best local spots, where you won’t have to deal with crowds of gawking people (and where you'll save some cash).

Like Jeff Ruby, I am a transplant and therefore may never be a “true” Chicagoan. But, as his article points out, that all depends on perspective. It seems that no two people have the same definition of what it takes to be a Chicagoan. And, well, when it comes down to it, yes, I want to fit in, but no, I don’t have anything to prove to anyone. Like most people here, I love this city. I love that when I walk down the sidewalks I am likely to hear people speaking in any language. I love that people on the street are always talking about Chicago, even as they stand within it. I love that I could partake in a different activity every day for, quite possibly, months if I wanted. I’ll stop there because, well, now I'm just starting to gush. So, you can call me a tourist if you want. Chicago is still consistently new to me. But you know what? I hope that never changes—and I plan on sticking around for a long time.