open to criticism

Wouldn't Vivian look fab as a blonde?

Photographs: Imogen Brown

THE CLEAN GENE
New Yorkers are pretty humble when it comes to hygiene. At Grand Central Terminal, I asked Ralph, 24, a police officer with a shy smile, for directions to Williamsburg. As he leaned in, I told him that he desperately needed gum and offered him a stick of Trident.

“Oh, shit!” he gasped and covered his mouth. Shit breath is right, buddy! Ralph also gave me the wrong directions to Brooklyn.

I reprimanded a dozen other New Yorkers for their halitosis, and only Goldie Hawn–lookalike Sara, 39, declined my offer for gum. “I just ate Japanese food,” she explained with a shrug.

Later, I noticed Brian, 33, with his hands down his pants. When he pulled them out, I offered him hand sanitizer. “No thanks—I was just warming them up,” he claimed. That’s what they all say, Brian.

WE’RE SO VAIN
Whether they’re in—or out, as Heidi’d say—New Yorkers will listen to (but not always agree with) a stranger’s fashion critiques. “You need to wear brighter colors—like a yellow coat,” I told 22-year-old Anna. “Um, I wear black all the time. Why are you talking to me?” she asked. “Are you trying to sell me something?”

I also scolded Ian, 21, for his meat-packing hipster jeans. “Oh wow, you’re the second woman to tell me this today,” he exclaimed.

Eva, 19, wasn’t having it when I told her to lose her hideous skull-patterned neckwear. “I happen to like my scarf,” she said, tightening it around her neck. “Besides, why would I trust a girl with a polar-bear print on her boots?”

At least one woman would listen. “You’d look really amazing with blond hair,” I said to a gal with a shockingly bright Run Lola Run ’do. “Dye it! It’ll change your life,” I insisted. “Really? You think so?” grinned Vivian, 30, touching her hair. “Thank you for your advice!”

DIRTY WORK
When it comes to New Yorkers’ crummy jobs, the sentiment is universal: Mind your own business. Stopping by McDonald’s for a snack, I asked 27-year-old Tana why she works in fast food. “You try living with three kids,” she said. “At least I get to bring free toys home.”

“Do you ever dream of a life beyond ChapStick and tampons?” I asked Natasha, 22, an employee at Duane Reade. “I’m trying to get out of here,” she said quietly. “I love horses and dolphins; I want to be a vet technician.”

Bottom line: You can diss a New Yorker’s hygiene, but don’t mess with their skull scarves!