I had never lived in New York City before I moved to Manhattan in 2018. It was daunting to come as a fully formed adult with a 14-year-old child in tow. We came for one reason: my French son had won a scholarship to a prestigious, old-world boys’ school founded by a Rockefeller in 1888.
Since he was born in Paris in 2004 to a French father, I had longed for my son to have some of the American get-up-and-go spirit. But equally, as an Italian who spent her entire adult life in London and Paris, I was terrified of the myth of neurotic New York tiger mums and dads. The emphasis on money, greed and endless ambition wasn’t my thing. My life in Paris had been quiet and serene but also – to be brutally honest – boring. I was ready for some of that New York City action as well.
