Remember New Orleans in the early 1990s?
Remember the filming of JFK? The erstwhile glory of Trent Reznor? The Utne Reader‘s declaration that the Lower Garden District was the coolest place to live in the USofA?
Well, in case you missed it, it was…interesting. I’m still not sure what started the boom, but suddenly, celebs were flocking to the city–some, like the ill-omened Kevin Costner, even bought homes here. Spokespeople for the tourism industry were calling New Orleans the “Third Coast,” despite the fact that we’re at least an hour’s drive from the Gulf of Mexico. Locals, in their predictably provincial, genteel way, were terrified that New Orleans would become a playground for the nouveau riche–conveniently forgetting, of course, that their own “old money” had disappeared before World War II.
In the end, it was kind of a non-event. The glitz and glamour levels ticked steadily upward, and then just as we achieved superstar supersaturation, it was all over. One day, I glimpsed Courtney Love’s pasty ass entering the tanning salon, and the next, nothing but Duck Girls and Bead Ladies for as far as the eye could see.
Now I’m wondering if we’re on the upswing again. Spokespeople for the tourism industry are calling New Orleans “Hollywood South” (and I thought “Third Coast” was as bad as it could get). TV dweebs like Frankie Muniz are sinking their claws into beloved local hipsters. And of course, Lenny’s making noise again. Can velveteen ropes at Acme Oyster House be far behind?
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