Maybe it's something in the name, that breeds the constant pursuit of new. The new hot bar, the new young face or the next big thing, New Yorkers pride themselves on always being ahead of the curve.
So where better for the hooded hulk of hype Banksy to take his art to the streets for a month-long 'residency' than New York City.
Better Out Than In – a street exhibition popping up across the five boroughs for the month of October has had hipsters and fans scrambling around NYC to tweet, Instagram and Facebook the latest installation before it disappears. An adult art treasure hunt being teased out in a series of social media clues for the rest of the world to watch.
With thousands of overexcited art fans, tourists, artists and journalists tearing around Manhattan, Brooklyn and Queens, drama and controversy were a certainty. I like to think of Banksy sitting somewhere watching it all unfold, chuckling darkly to himself.
One enterprising group of locals in East New York, an area never frequented by tourists, decided to charge $20 per viewing, covering the art with a pizza box until fans payed up. Welcome to the city where money never sleeps.
Another group from the Del Boy school of capitalism made thousands selling fake pieces outside Central Park in a spot where some originals had been sold for pittance a few days previously. Building owners who woke up to an impromptu art exhibition on their front door scrambled to hire security and put up plexiglass protecting any potential price hike source.
In Williamsburg, hipsters wrestled a rival artist to the ground as he tried to make his mark by tagging two tiny Geisha. The group restored the piece before it could dry, possibly using wooly hats and beards to mop off the paint.
'Get Banksy Out!' shouted the New York Post. The local press erupted with apocalyptic predictions of a descention into a Warrior-esque '70s spray paint bloodbath.
I bounded down to Chinatown to see the first painting that read 'Graffiti is a crime'. Mayor Bloomberg agreed, rowing in on the exhibit as it progressed and vowing that Mr Banksy would be arrested on site, if, of course, the NYPD could catch him.
As I stood just off Canal Street on October 1, I couldn't help but feel unattractively smug that I had, probably for the only time since arriving, outmanoeuvred the savvy New Yorkers and was one of the first on the scene. It wasn't through any edginess on my part, mind, I spotted the exhibit announcement on Twitter (re-tweeted by somebody infinitely cooler) and just happened to live nearby.
It was intoxicating feeling like you were ahead of the rest of the city, a local, a real New Yorker. Although, veterans say you have to be here five years before you're considered one of them, anything less is tourism. Sheesh.
I was approaching my 30th birthday by the time I moved to New York, I'm a bit of a slow starter – but the city had first seduced me as a teenager. The skyline, the buzz, the steam from the manholes, all the cliché.
It's an intangible sort of an intoxication that afflicts people who fall in love with the place.
There's the rodents, the grime, the aggression but it still somehow manages to remain so magical. So full of possibilities.
In a city of constant sirens, extreme weather, cramped living and, let's face it, some pretty mean people, you have to have those magical moments or it just wouldn't be worth it. That's the pay-off.
Dublin was home and it felt as if I was leaving my wife for a transatlantic mistress. There was nothing wrong with my marriage, I just wanted something new. It's not you Dublin, it's me.
I think most people thought I'd be home in a few weeks with a suitcase full of Reese's Pieces. I did develop a trouser-stretching reliance on peanut butter cups but over a year later, I'm still here.
Life and work in Dublin were going well but I was nagged by a curiosity that it might be possible to love somewhere else in the world more. And I've realised that luckily for me, it was.
I came curious but without expectations so the city works for me, for now. I was curious about new places, new bars, new restaurants, new people – New Yorkers. The sort of curiosity that sees you chasing around a city after a faceless graffiti artist.
Standing in an alley in Chinatown in the middle of the night taking a picture of a random piece of art on the wall is, for me, what New York is all about. The anonymity, the excitement, the hustle, the hype.