Your UCLA days are behind you but you still Yelp with reckless abandon and do your best to hide that secret back tattoo from the HR guy at the tech start-up where your cousin is trying to give the world boba-on-demand.
Got a family and love mediocre Italian food? You probably live here.
You swore you'd never leave New York, but now you've got your own palm tree, a used Prius, and a crippling addiction to Sqirl's sorrel pesto rice bowl. During your weekend runs around the reservoir in your American Apparel shorts, you secretly wish you were running through Prospect Park.
You could have bought a mansion in the town where you grew up, but you're happy to have paid twice as much for a two-bedroom where you store your fedoras and keep a fridge full of Whole Foods.