New York Climbers

Founded: April 2017

The New York Climbers’ story didn’t begin in a gym or on a neat little climbing wall with colorful plastic holds; that would be far too sensible. No, it began on the vertical cliffs of Manhattan itself. It was a Tuesday evening—a day notorious for spontaneous acts of rebellion—when the Harlem Couch Potatoes, New York's premier experts in horizontal activities, were hosting their legendary "All-Day Sit-in." A few restless souls on the ground looked up at the city’s towering skyline, squinted at the Potato stronghold, and collectively thought, “Well, this simply won’t do.”

The trouble with ground-level observations, you see, is that they're terribly mundane. And in New York, where people aspire not just to dream big but to dream tall, the only logical solution was to climb. The group, an odd assembly of misfits, philosophers, and those who just had an inexplicable fondness for high places, began scaling anything that stood taller than a hot dog cart. Buildings, lampposts, the occasional billboard—nothing was safe from their upward ambitions. Thus, the Climbers were born, embodying the city’s tireless drive to rise above the ordinary, if only to get a better view of the absurdity below.

Chief among them was "Gorilla Greg", a man who had once been a mere construction worker but had evolved—or perhaps devolved—into a skyscraper-clinging legend. Greg wasn’t an actual gorilla, though his penchant for swinging from scaffolding and howling triumphantly at bewildered office workers suggested otherwise. By day, he wore a hard hat and blended in with the ordinary. By night, he transformed into an urban myth, scaling the Empire State Building as if it were a mere ladder in his basement. His most memorable climb involved hanging upside down from the building’s 86th floor while reciting poetry to the wind. No one heard the verses, but they were assuredly profound.

Accompanying Greg was "Cliffhanger Cleo", who didn’t climb with grace but with the chaotic enthusiasm of someone who had just realized halfway up that they had a fear of heights. Cleo was infamous for her unpredictability; she didn’t so much climb as she did flail elegantly from one window ledge to the next with the finesse of a cat chasing a laser pointer. Tourists would gather below, unsure if they were watching a death-defying ascent or an elaborate and ongoing performance art piece. It didn't really matter; Cleo would always reach the top, where she would triumphantly produce a half-crushed can of seltzer from her back pocket, crack it open with the enthusiasm of someone who's just found the last seat on a crowded train.

Eloise Inkwell