Occasionally, he’d cross the East River, too. Eagled-eyed New Yorkers have spotted the cryptid lurking in Manhattan neighborhoods such as Union Square.
It’s been about two years since anyone’s spotted the Brooklyn Yeti again and his fame seems to have fizzled out a bit as a result of his hiatus.
But I haven’t forgotten about him — not by a long shot.
After toughing it through one of the worst winters in my five years as a New Yorker without catching a single glimpse of him, I knew I had to find the Brooklyn Yeti — and I wasn’t going to stop looking until I succeeded in my mission.
But tracking a yeti is no easy task.
Many brave people before me have tried to in the past, spending their life-savings funding expeditions to Nepal or other remote and mostly inaccessible parts of the planet.
Fortunately, unlike his Nepali relatives, the Brooklyn Yeti has an online presence, which made things slightly easier for me. There’s a delightfully quirky website about him with a contact form, a Facebook page and even an Instagram account all managed by the beast itself.
To really get to know the Brooklyn Yeti, trace his current whereabouts, and manage to crack the code of his true identity is a different matter. But, after many days of research and tireless dedication, I finally found out his real name and occupation.
Of course, I will never say what they are.
Revealing his secrets would spoil all the fun and kill the mystery surrounding Brooklyn’s most charismatic creature. My sacred duty, therefore, is not only to respect his privacy but to keep this glorious urban myth alive for the generations to come. So, for anonymity purposes, let’s just call him Pete.
Technically, when I reached out to Pete, he was in his spring hibernation trance.
“I’ve actually never given this many words to anyone,” he told me. “I’m usually not a talker. I’m a walker.”
And it’s true. Pete’s actions speak volumes, as he does his thing with a silent, determined passion that allows him to transform himself into a yeti. A real yeti, that is, because if you ask Pete, his furry white suit is not a disguise.
“I don’t actually wear a costume,” he explained.
“A costume is what many people put on for Halloween, or, sadly, for work, like wearing a superfluous, constricting piece of cloth around one’s neck and all in the name of earning a wage. When and why did you start wearing your ‘man suit,’ your existential costume of a human being?” he asked me, citing a scene from the cult-classic movie Donnie Darko.
OK, so Pete is clearly not a corporate chump, and apparently he’s not human either. Instead, he’s the embodiment of an outlandish creature who is guided by one purpose and one purpose only: to make people happy.
“Look around and pay attention during your next rush hour subway ride,” Pete said, “and tell me how many people you see smiling. I like the idea that I may bring a smile to someone who might otherwise not be [smiling]. It’s hard to not feel a little happy when you are either smiling or laughing.”
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