(Extract of the Article Why the Anthora Coffee Cup Is Part of New York's Magic by John Sherman)
I spent every lunch break of my first summer in New York scouring the coffee spots near my job for the signature blue of my site-specific urban dream. With a cup of coffee—an iconic cup of coffee—I would prove my place here, to myself if to no one else. My Anthora coffee was the holy grail of Midtown. More than signing a lease or barfing between subway cars, drinking coffee from an Anthora cup would make me a New Yorker. My Anthora would be a secret password, an NYC ID, a small graffito on a subway seat.
The Anthora cup is a signpost of aspirational New York living—like a surprise view of the Chrysler Building looking north on Bowery, it’s a sight that ought to remind the beholder of just where he is, and what it is he’s doing here. The privilege of seeing these things in person instead of on Instagram or in syndicated reruns of Sex and the City is participation in the IRL fiction of New York, the unconscious retracing of everything any of us has seen or read or heard about this place in hopes of reaching some authentic core.