The banker who insists that finance doesn’t define him

You book a summer house in the Hamptons four months in advance, but claim it was a last-minute trip. You have dinner at Tao and end up in a heated discussion about low-income-housing deals at a consultant’s apartment in Murray Hill.


The Upper East Side MILF

You stop by Dr. Robert Schwarcz’s office for a touch-up after lunch at Sant Ambroeus uptown, then forget to pick your kindergartener up from school. You leave the dog at the pet spa to avoid the risk that it pees in the private jet. You notice the pill bottle feels light but don’t suspect your teenagers are selling your stash at school. You take one too many of the remaining pills on the plane and find yourself slurring words over spicy margaritas at Le Bilboquet Palm Beach.


The N.Y.U. student with a medical suite for insomnia

You’re an extra-virgin-mimosa regular and stop for selfies in front of Jack’s Wife Freda before hitting every $5 happy-hour bar in the city that plays Taylor Swift. Your favorite hobby is waiting in line, whether that’s two hours for Veselka pierogies or four for the Lafayette pistachio Sûpreme croissant. You down addies at all times, including with your fifth caramel mocha latte at the library at midnight. Depending on your mood, you might also cut it up and snort it at a mixer.


The retired magazine editor with a tenured philosophy-professor husband

You’re a little less bougie and a little more serious-minded than the Xanax demographic. You live on the Upper West Side and discuss Dostoyevsky over a gin martini at Café Luxembourg. It’s not an addiction if you only take one every night before going to bed.


The creative director, brand consultant, unpaid editor at The Drift, or all three

On weekends, you follow D.J.’s around Bushwick like a 60s groupie. You film your shoes at raves to show followers you attended without being too obvious. After one bump too many, you end up at a random Ridgewood apartment at seven A.M., dancing with a man in a papal miter.

Chocolate Mushrooms

The East Village resident who moved from the West Village “for the vibes”

You swear mushrooms are not drugs. In your apartment, aspirational Slim Aarons posters sit above a bookshelf stocked with every Taylor Jenkins Reid novel published. You get really giggly with friends at Paul’s Baby Grand, then head to the Hudson River for a sunrise photo shoot, which you post immediately. Your Instagram bio reads: “NY/LDN/LA.”


The influencer who drops a pill at a $200 Halloween warehouse party

You make the journey to Brooklyn once a year, maybe twice. A party bus might alleviate the stress of taking the big leap from Manhattan. You complain about your hangover for weeks on end, but to be fair, you did make it through a 12-hour bender alive.


The micro-dosing tech entrepreneur who only votes Republican “for tax reasons”

You spend winters working remotely in Santa Teresa and summers in Ibiza. When you drop acid with your colleagues on work retreats, it’s always in a “controlled environment.”


The senior citizen with one too many cats

You spend your weekends at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Sometimes Muffin and Misty even accompany you in a stroller. Stacks of expired-pill bottles sit in your bathroom cabinets. You’ll pop one just before a Monday-night dinner at Felice with the grandkids, who attend Packer Collegiate.


The tourist who can’t figure out why people keep calling Manhattan “a grid”

You may come across a dealer of synthetic marijuana next to a hot-dog stand in Madison Square Garden. After a couple of drags, the Times Square lights get really bright and menacing. Back in your home country, you complain that “American weed is so strong.”


The person for whom “in dust we trust” is a life motto

You believe you’re doing psychedelics when you’re actually on knockoff pink coke. You order from BoCaPhe SoHo for dinner every night. You spend winters in Tulum. Though you’re usually buying tables at Gospel, you might venture out to the William Vale in Williamsburg and then claim you are part of “the tribe.”


The party boy who ends every night at the Eagle

You didn’t even know this used to be the date-rape drug. Grindr is the only app you need. Pop a G, and you might find yourself naked in an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen at midday on a Monday.


The TikTok beauty queen

You think highlighter is an acceptable makeup product. Sniffing poppers in the bathroom at the Boom Boom Room is the perfect way to kick off a glamazon photo shoot. You have at least 10K followers on TikTok and post photos from the balcony of the W hotel in Miami. Also, Lady Gaga is your religion.


The Shih Tzu who gets professionally walked three times a day in a Moncler puffer

One 100-milligram peach gummy for you, one for Fluffy—and a big fat blunt for the dog walker.


As Nancy Reagan once told us …

“Just say no.”

Elena Clavarino is the Senior Editor for AIR MAIL