Not Too Authentic
On the difference between a place and a backdrop
They arrived in matching Prada fleece vests — his navy, hers forest green — which is what couples wear when they have survived both marriage and philanthropy. They were sitting two tables over at Don’s, studying the locals the way people do when they’re fairly certain they’ve discovered something that hasn’t yet discovered them back.
“We’re scoping it out,” the woman announced, in the tone of someone who has never scoped out anything without eventually purchasing it, “as a place to retire.”
Her husband nodded solemnly. “We want somewhere authentic,” he said. “But, you know—” He leaned in, lowering his voice to what he probably considered discretion. “Are there intelligent people here? You know. Not locals.”
This is when I nearly aspirated an oyster, which would have been the least dramatic thing to happen at that table.
Not locals. As if intelligence were a zip code you could forward your mail to. As if the woman who had just delivered their soft shell crabs hadn’t balanced books, children, hurricanes, and two recessions without once announcing she was “scoping it out.” As if the watermen didn’t read the sky and tide with the calm authority of men who understand that weather apps are adorable but optional.
I didn’t lecture them. No one wants a lecture between the cocktails and the key lime pie. I simply said that intelligence here tends to be practical. It knows how to fix things. It knows when the storm is real and when it’s just theater. It knows that survival is not a thought experiment.
They nodded, satisfied in the way people are when they’ve heard something that sounds reassuring but changes nothing.
I wished them well in their search for authenticity — the version that comes with strong Wi-Fi and neighbors who say “we’re building community” while pricing everyone else out of it — and went back to my oysters. They were perfect. Briny, unpretentious, and entirely local. Which, it turns out, is more than enough.