'Broad City' Is the Realest Depiction of NYC on TV

*lives in New York once*

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Complex Original

Image via Complex Original

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We were both running late. Even though I had sprinted to the station, I missed the L train on the way to meet my best friend from LA at Buffalo Wild Wings in Harlem. Once I finally got there, we talked over beers about the differences between trying to get places in LA versus New York on time, and the one similarity—how excuses for being late are easily found in both cities. Wild Wings bill paid, she and I filtered onto 125th St. and made our way to the Apollo Theater, where Blood Orange was performing. The show went well and the night was proceeding normally enough—seeing Blood Orange on a wintry Saturday night wasn't a recipe for a weird New York night, even after multiple whiskeys and a surprise guest appearance from Solange. As exit-music filled the theater after the concert, we headed back to Brooklyn to go to another friend's apartment party. 

I always got Broad City, but I never really gotBroad City until I watched the new episodes of the series’ third season, which premieres tonight on Comedy Central. So what changed? I’ve always pretty much been the target demo for the show—a single woman in her uh, middling adulthood. I have groups of friends with whom I sometimes get into very “Broad City-esque” situations (my main gal and I more than share a physical resemblance to Abbi and Ilana); I get party FOMO, agree that Valencia is the supreme IG filter (most of the time), and believe that under no circumstances should a lady ever fuck a comedian. Abbi and Ilana are also basically the same in season three of Broad City—they are still taking their misadventures all over the city, leaving no New York stone unturned. 

So here's what did change: during the first two seasons of the show, I lived in LA.

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After an uneventful ride on the F train, free of drunk pukers or people shamelessly making out, we made it to the party, six pack of a random IPA in hand. It was chill, full of cool young Brooklyn residents arguing about Alicia Vikander and casually vaping. The night had been decidedly chill up to that point. Sure, we had gone from Harlem to South Slope, Brooklyn—an hour trek—for one night of activity, but borough-hopping is a pretty standard NYC nightlife occurrence. It was nothing crazy. Then we decided to order an Uber pool and go to another bar at 3 a.m. 

In their recent profile in Interview, Abbi Jacobson discusses the way that New York functions narratively in Broad City. “I think we've made a very conscious choice to make New York—not to sound all Sex and the City—but the city is like a main character in the show. If you watch the show and you live in New York, you can relate to all the stuff. That's the ultimate goal. And if you don't live in New York, you're like, 'Holy shit, New York fucking sucks,' or, 'New York can be beautiful sometimes.' But New York is such a part of your daily life when you live here; it can't help but be infused in every part of your world.”

The smartest, slyest part about the way that Broad City has made New York a main character in the show is that truly, unless you've lived there, you won’t even realize it. I certainly didn’t. After a recent binge rewatch of the show, practically everything registered in a different way. I understood the perils of taking the G train anywhere (“cause the G ain’t runnin!”), and the savagery of sample sales. New Yorkers’ fascination with discussing rent and apartment space made sense and the disgust of having to step anywhere near Times Square became well justified. Abbi and Ilana running just about everywhere to try to make a train in time became my day-to-day reality and '90s hip hop really is playing all over the city; Williamsburg bros are quite real, douchey and sometimes unfortunately hot, and “storm/blizzard” parties surprisingly exist because yes, New York has actual weather fluctuation. 

But beyond the subway fails or the references to waiting in insanely long lines for a specialty food item (Broad City rips on the cronut with the "churon," a churro-macaron hybrid), what the show really gets is the feeling of New York, of being young there. There's not the languid, sun-drenched slog (and traffic) of LA life, but instead a near constant hustle from Abbi and Ilana, as they shift between their personal and professional lives and go in and out of side gigs in an effort to keep themselves afloat. But that same manic energy pierces the entire show, from the party-hopping storylines to the fast-paced direction of many of the episodes. It's a love letter to where the two women are in their lives—young, broke and in constant love/hate with New York, a place where a touching moment can be instantly ruined by a cabbie shouting to get the fuck out of the street. 

What makes Broad City so successful though, is that despite its New York centricity, it’s not a show that ever feels exclusive (an argument that can totally not be made for SATC, even though I love ya, bitch). Even if you've never lived in Brooklyn and can't relate to the feelings that define New York—the always bubbling chaos, the constant and quick vacillation between agony and ecstasy, and feeling all at once alone and part of a giant community—you can get the idea, if not feel it deeply. And that’s a testament to the warmth and sheer hilarity (spoiler: if the third episode of this new season doesn’t make you pee your pants, you might not have a sense of humor) that Jacobson, Glazer and their writers have infused into the show and the relatively small world of Abbi and Ilana. 

My friend and I never made it to the bar that night. On the way there, a couple joined our Uber pool and made everything go left. The woman tucked into the backseat with us and after a few pleasantries, her words became more flirtatious, her thigh brushes less and less casual. There was no question: she was angling to get us home with her and her guy. After a quick glance and an arm pinch to my friend about the situation, we started giggling and made an effort to distract the couple from their late-night foursome dream. A drunk singalong of "Bohemian Rhapsody" commenced. Either because she hates Queen or realized that she wasn't going to get it, our girlfriend's mood suddenly changed. "Drunk bitches!" she screamed at us at the top of her lungs. My friend and I sat silently, trying not to laugh, our skin crawling as her boyfriend tried to calm her down from the front seat. Finally we arrived at their destination. The woman crawled out of the backseat, but not before trying one last time to make a foursome happen—as if she hadn't just called us bitches.

So yes, unlike Ilana would have, we declined the group sex option. But at least I get Broad City now. 

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