The scary clown trend is terrorizing America. But as is so often the case with the objects of our fear, at the heart of the issue is a fundamental misunderstanding. In our Creepy Clowns of New York (CCONY) series, we interview some of the scary clowns who inhabit our world in an attempt to foster greater understanding and, hopefully, less fear.
“If I have learned one thing from living in this strange and beautiful city, it’s this: Black, white, brown, whatever, at the end of the day, no matter your race, all children taste the same. Except maybe Russians. For some reason, the Russian children taste quite distinct.”
“My favorite New Yorkers are the ones who think they are completely safe from clowns. They think just because they live on the fifteenth floor of some building with a doorman, they don’t have to worry about clowns. I guess they never considered that when I’m not a clown, I am the doorman of some building.”
“Growing up, I always wanted to move somewhere much bigger. I felt too confined as a kid. It was boring. There was nothing to do. There was never anyone new to meet. Lucky for me, that psychiatric hospital burned down, and everyone believed I died in my cell.”
“There’s just something about the park this time of year that gives me unbelievable joy. You can walk in and listen to all the happy people. If you’re ever feeling down, there’s no cure like being surrounded by all these people shouting and screaming, full of life and energy, and of course one scream lost in it all from someone who just turned the wrong corner to find me quietly standing there holding one half-deflated balloon.”
“Being a clown doesn’t define who I really am. I’m a loving single father of two. I’m a handyman. I drive an Uber. I’m taking night classes and plan on getting my law degree. But when the neighbor’s dog speaks to me, I put on the make-up and do Satan’s bidding.”
“Creepy can be such a pejorative term, especially for clowns. I think it tries to makes us sound cute and harmless. I’m out here busting my ass off to terrorize these people, and some news reporter writes me off as ‘creepy’? Anybody can be creepy. Very few have the dedication to spend every night alone on the last subway car, loitering down by the docks and warehouses, or visiting first-floor apartment window after first-floor apartment window. Go take a peek to see what that shadow in the streetlight by your bedroom at 3:30 AM is and then tell me I’m just ‘creepy’”
“You’re very brave. You know what I did to the last photographer, right?”