RIP Sherita, the pink queen of central Brooklyn

At least people on the internet are finally talking about her!

I’ve lived in three central Brooklyn apartments since I moved to NYC: One criminally cheap, criminally small “bedroom” in Fort Greene, one huge rent stabilized studio in Bed Stuy, and one garden-adjacent two-bed I share with my partner in Crown Heights.

And right in between all of them, for at least half a century, lived Sherita.

This fuel oil sign sat above the corner of Atlantic and Classon for as long as pretty much anyone can remember. When I first saw her, I thought, why??? but also, awesome!!

The dramatic makeup! That golden nametag collar! Her candy pink skin! I would have believed she was originally painted red and faded in the sun, if it wasn’t for her bright crimson lips, and the fact that her sign was inexplicably touched up and repaired for so many years. I also thought she was a llama or alpaca for a long time, some random inside joke by a family-owned business. After all, I took her for granted! I only saw her briefly in taxis or walking between neighborhoods, not really examining her.

I think it was my mom who, when I showed her a photo, pointed out that she’s obviously a dinosaur (because fossil fuels, duh) and her hair is a spurt of crude oil. So, still probably an inside joke by a family-owned business. But one that makes a little more sense, given what they were selling.

My life has gone through a dozen transformations since I moved to NYC almost 15 years ago. Intern to contractor, drunk to sober, single to coupled, broke to less-broke, fashion designer to tattoo artist, and so many more evolutions, going in so many directions other than just “upwards.” But through it all, Sherita was there.

A few nights ago, I was getting ready for bed and saw on Instagram that Sherita was…

gone.

via pix11

The tire store moved last year. I assume the property will go up for sale, if it isn’t already. The city is planning on rezoning Atlantic Ave, so this corner property will undoubtedly turn into a big brown low-rise apartment building with tiny “balconies,” built-in-microwave kitchens, and those cheap new toilets with awkward buttons instead of levers.

And, I can say with 100% certainty, they’ll include far fewer affordable units than what they’re currently proclaiming.

In Fiona Davis’ book The Spectacular, a slice-of-life-meets-NYC-crime novel¹, the lead character talks about about how every transplant's perfect version of New York City is the New York City that existed the year they moved there.

“It seems to me that whenever a person comes to New York, the year that they arrive gets coated in amber, in a way. Frozen for perpetuity. You walk around memorizing block, every corner, because it’s all new and that’s how you navigate the neighborhoods. that’s the year that everything is perfect. From then on, as the city changes—and of course, the city has always been changing—we yearn for the past and fight against anything new.”

It’s hard not to fight against anything new, when the “new” is nearly always inaccessible, bland, corporate, and greedy. Sherita means a lot to me, personally, but I think she represents way more than that. She’s just another one of our city’s quirks being whitewashed and churned into obscene profit for billionaires who don’t even live here.

In honor of Sherita, and as a therapeutic act for myself, I painted her for my hallway gallery wall and listed cheap prints on my site for your wall, too. And if you don’t wanna buy a print, you can use the graphic on your phone screen or something! Because if Sharita can’t live on at Atlantic and Classon, at least she can live on with us.

1. it was just OK—Definitely not written by someone who lives here! Also it needed way more Rockette gossip, less pseudo-historical “Mad Bomber” content