Postcards From Home

Voices From a Global Pandemic: How Millennials From Shanghai to Seattle Are Coping With a World Forever Changed

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Photo: Courtesy of Amy DeCillis

On Sunday’s Meet the Press, World Health Organization special envoy David Nabarro didn’t mince words about the COVID-19 pandemic.

“We’re right in the middle of this massive, epic struggle,” he said. “Every single human being in the world is affected by it.”

Not since WWII has every society in the world—universally, collectively, and simultaneously—undergone the same traumatic experience. But during this one, we’re all battling our indeterminable, invisible enemy from the same side. “We think it’s going to be a virus that stalks the human race for quite a long time to come,” Nabarro said.

During this pandemic, there are many stories to be told. Vogue is committed to telling them: of our medical professionals on the front lines. Of our essential workers. Of the at-risk and immunocompromised. Of parents and their children. And, now, that of millennial women.

They’re the young and financially anxious, grappling with their new, surreal, stay-at-home, socially distant normals in cities across the globe. They’re separated from their loved ones and (mostly) unattached themselves, turning roommates and neighbors into their chosen families. They’re bored, and they’re scared. Most of all, they’re uncertain of their future. The majority of gig-economy workers, bartenders, and waiters, 52% of millennials have lost their jobs, been furloughed, or seen a reduction of hours, according to the Data for Progress. For those over 45, that number shrinks to 26%.

I am part of this generation, and I too am part of a world that seems forever changed. I remember going for a walk on March 13, the day after New York City announced a state of emergency but before shelter-in-place orders had been imposed. It was a quintessential spring evening in New York, the first one after a long winter. I passed by a neighborhood café, the place I take my parents whenever they’re in town. All the outside tables were full. At that time, I didn’t—I couldn’t—comprehend the enormity of what was about to happen to New York. But I knew that sight wasn’t good.

A few days later, New York State closed everything but essential businesses. The line to get into Whole Foods stretched blocks. That café is now boarded up with plywood. And the first of my friends was hospitalized due to COVID-19. (She is now thankfully recovered.) On one walk in late March, there was a new site: a bundle of white awnings and metal prods, a-soon-to-be erected field hospital in Central Park.

Those are scenes now familiar throughout the world. Over a two-and-a-half-week stretch in mid-March, I talked to those who lived both in coronavirus hot spots (China, Iran, Italy) and emerging ones (Seattle, Paris, and Washington, D.C.). Little did I know this would be a period that historians will likely home in upon when they write of this time: On March 11 alone, WHO declared the coronavirus a pandemic, President Trump enacted his European travel ban, the NBA canceled its season, and Tom Hanks publicized his positive diagnosis. In mid-March, some countries saw their first glimmers of hope—China began to ease the restrictions of its months-long draconian lockdowns—while some were in the depths of despair; in Italy, the health care system teetered on the brink of collapse. And some, like me, were just grasping the enormity of what was coming: my home of New York, now the coronavirus epicenter, with the most cases of not just any province, but any country, in the world.

Below, read the interviews, edited and condensed for clarity. Some are sad. Some are matter-of-fact. Some are quite funny. But all paint a portrait of a window in time—of a global life in lockdown.

One way to kill time? Battleship.

Photo: Courtesy of Sarah Pate

In Seattle, there’s just no traffic, not even during rush hour—it’s so eerie.

Photo: Courtesy of Sarah Pate

Weekly to-do list—which now includes “Clorox wipe everything.”

Photo: Courtesy of Sarah Pate

Sarah Pate, Seattle

Sarah Pate is a freelance production assistant in Seattle. She was interviewed on March 12.

I do freelance video work, so I work paycheck to paycheck. I typically get gigs like a couple times a week—but now I haven’t had work for the past two weeks. I have money for next month’s rent, but I don’t have money for the month after because I’m not getting any work. I don’t invest in stocks. I don’t even own a credit card. The stock market was doing great before the virus—that didn’t impact me at all, though. But when it starts doing really poorly? I’m affected.

I have no idea what I’m going to do. My parents live in Georgia, and my dad works for Delta. Yesterday, he just saw contractors being let go, and he lost two-thirds of his 401K. He thinks he might be the next to go. My dad says it’s the worst thing he’s experienced in his entire life—and he was at Delta when 9/11 happened. So I’m financially not stable through this. My backup was my parents, but they’re not financially stable to this. And it looks like this could be pretty long-lasting. I may get a job at a grocery store.

In Seattle, there’s just no traffic, not even during rush hour—it’s so eerie. Every single grocery store I’ve been to has a hand sanitizer in the doorway, and every cashier is wearing gloves. It’s been very hectic to go to the grocery store during the daytime—the shelves are just completely wiped out. A lot of pasta is missing.

I also live next door to a nursing home, and I’m very worried. What if I somehow contracted it and gave it to them? I have five roommates, so most of the days I’m disinfecting with wipes on all the doorknobs, remotes, fridges, lights—just anything a hand touches. But it’s hard to maintain a house full of six people. Like, if someone comes out of the bathroom and you didn’t hear them wash your hands, what are you supposed to do? I can only control myself.

Staying socially distant in France.

Photo: Courtesy of Rachel Couch

Couch’s written—and signed—proclamation on why she is venturing outside her home. She says she must carry this documentation on her at all times.

Photo: Courtesy of Rachel Couch

A grocery store haul.

Photo: Courtesy of Rachel Couch

Before the lockdown officially began, Couch visited Honfleur, France. She captured a town square with no townspeople.

Photo: Courtesy of Rachel Couch

Rachel Couch, Paris

Rachel Couch is a freelance photographer from Washington, D.C. Due to the European travel ban, she is stuck in a suburb of Paris with her on-and-off boyfriend, Hugo. She was interviewed on March 23.

I met my boyfriend three years ago in the U.S., but he moved back to France in October. I came here to see if we wanted to try long-distance. But then Trump’s travel ban hit. Now we’re stuck together in a small Airbnb in a suburb outside of Paris. So that’s interesting.

I was supposed to fly home on the 16th. But then I kept hearing all these stories about the airports at Chicago and New York … about crazy lines and all this confusion. So I extended my trip, thinking, Well, maybe in two weeks, the airport situation will have died down.

I’d booked another flight to go home in a few days. But I signed on to United to check my flight status, and it had been canceled. I didn’t get an email or anything. I went to see what my other options are—I needed to fly into Dulles—and when I searched, it just said, “No flight matches your criteria.” So that’s how I found out they’d grounded everything.

I called and got a very nice guy on the phone. He said they didn’t have anything but maybe someone else does, and put me on hold. Then he came back and was like, ‘Well, we’re on the phone with Air Canada. I could maybe see if we can get you home through Canada, but we’re not sure if you classify as essential travel—which is the only thing they’re doing right now.’

I didn’t stay on the phone to find out more. I’m terrified of risking air travel. I’m terrified of getting it, and then getting to D.C. and they can’t help me because I’m in a country where the health care system seems to be in chaos. So I made the decision to stay put. I talked to my parents today and I said, “I’m risking finances if I stay here, but I’m risking my health and my life potentially by coming back.”

Our Airbnb has a garden, which is really great. We try to do yoga every day outside. We cook dinner, watch Netflix, play cards—gin rummy. This weekend, I asked Hugo, okay, what should we do? And he goes … “Oh! We have laundry! Let’s do the laundry!” We laughed.

I’ve gone out once to the grocery store. You’re supposed to have documentation on you, signed by you, that says “I’m out for four or five reasons.” Hugo translated it for me: going to get essential groceries, going to the hospital, getting to a safe place—like I’m in danger and I’m going to somewhere safe. Then exercise. But you can’t really be running too far from where you live.

I’m a freelance photographer. The idea that my career, which I spent a long time building, could all just—poof!—go away? It’s terrifying. I don’t know what my life’s going to look like. I’m in the gig economy. A lot of my jobs have been canceled, and I still have rent to pay in D.C. and now I’m going to be paying for accommodations over here. And not just for me: I’m just worried about how many people are going to be just in dire straits health-wise, and also how this is a huge economic nightmare.

This also could potentially be a strain on our relationship, so that’s tough. It’s pretty ironic: Many of my friends told me it was a silly decision to come to Paris to try and make this relationship work. Now I’m here for a while with this. But I care about this person very much, and he’s been wonderful. But what if we do rip each other’s heads off, and I’m stuck in a foreign country with someone and things aren’t going well?

I freak out about money. I freak out about health. I freak out about the future. I freak out about all this stuff. But then I think: No one has control over outcomes right now.

Riding a bike through the Shanghai streets.

Texts from a suitor looking for … masks.

Photo: Courtesy of Amy DeCillis

Amy DeCillis, Shanghai

Amy DeCillis is a student in Shanghai. After a January and February spent in intense quarantine, restrictions are beginning to ease in the sprawling Mainland Chinese metropolis. She was interviewed March 7.

Things are slowly getting busier—but it’s still now not back to normal. For example, I went out to my favorite bar last night that’s only been open for a few weeks. At one point, the police were outside and the waiters told us to be quiet so they wouldn’t shut the place down. People are jumping at social opportunities when they can. Last weekend, I met friends of a friend for the first time. It was one of their birthdays last night—I literally just met her, but she invited me. I wanted to go even though I only knew a few other people invited. I’m not a shy person, but I don’t usually agree to birthday dinners with 10 strangers.

Everywhere you go your temperature is taken. My apartment complex isn’t allowing visitors. Classmates in my complex who are stuck in the U.S. got me to look after their cat because they wouldn’t allow a cat sitter in. I hate cats, but this one has grown on me. I feel like the Chinese girl version of Will Smith in I Am Legend. Especially with abandoned apartments and stuff—I’ve gone into some friends’ places and taken food. I even have a freaking pet sidekick. But instead of a cool shepherd I have a fat COVID cat.

I’m doing fine. I’m already such a homebody. I’m constantly in touch with friends and family, so I haven’t been lonely. I leave the apartment at least once every two days. The hardest part is working from home. School is still closed and a lot of cafés aren’t open, so I just work from home. But it’s hard to focus.

My standards for men have definitely dropped since COVID. There was a mass exodus of single men from the city. It’s interesting to see how many people I matched with before COVID have fled—Tinder even gives their distance from Shanghai.

I met up with one guy in early February, when I could still have guests. In the morning I made pancakes. He just helped himself and started eating before I was even finished cooking them. Then offered to pay me for masks if I got some extra from school. Later, I posted on Wechat that I bought some through the local registrations system. He responded: “How many masks did you get?” I’m like, “Bruh, they only let us buy five at a time! Go register in your own neighborhood!” Oh, he also went in my fridge and asked for yogurt and … syrup. Annoying all around.

I did meet someone, on Bumble. I go to his place and we just watch movies. It feels like we’ve skipped the whole chase and are already in the lazy Sunday couple stage. I was disappointed. It felt like COVID robbed me of a normal courtship.

In Lahijan, Iran, painting pottery to pass the time.

Photo: Courtesy of Anonymous

Anonymous, Lahijan, Iran

Anonymous is an artist who lives with her husband in Lahijan, Iran, a northern city and one of the country’s coronavirus epicenters. She was interviewed on March 14.

We’ve quarantined ourselves. Lahijan wasn’t crowded at all, but today the government announced that they want to quarantine the cities. So it became crowded; people came out to buy the stuff they wanted.

I’m a painter and I don’t need to go out too much, so it’s not very different for me. I paint. I see movies. I read books. I have four dogs and I train them. It’s a culture of Iranian people to make jokes for everything, for every disaster. Social media is full of jokes about the coronavirus. Some of them are so funny.

It’s New Year’s in Iran. All families gather together on New Year’s. Every year, my parents and my husband’s parents come here because the north of Iran is so beautiful. But this year there’s no such plan. We are keeping in touch with Skype. I’m not sad about it. It’s just a fact.

We don’t have clear news about anything. I follow social media, foreign, even Persian-speaking television [in the United Kingdom] to know the right news. And it’s very different from the news that the government tells us. For example, they say that just 5,000 people die, but the Persian-speaking television says it’s more than 20,00 people. You’ll see videos on social media and on Instagram that people are suddenly falling on the ground, they are coughing, they cannot breathe, and the hospitals are full of patients. Many doctors and nurses are dying because they don’t have the facilities, they are not fully equipped.

We knew that coronavirus was in Iran. Many doctors, many nurses on social media, they announced it. We saw some people that fit the symptoms, but the government didn’t announce it for two weeks because of the celebration march for the [Iranian] revolution.

As a person, I want to know the truth about the things that are happening around me. The government always is telling you a lie about everything—and it’s very frightening. They just tell us, “Be calm, it’s nothing special. It’s going away.” You should tell the people that it’s so dangerous, you should stay at home, to be aware. They think that if they tell these things to people, it means that they are not powerful enough to control it. But I think it’s my right to know the truth.

When you see it in the news that there’s a virus in China, it is just the news. But when it comes to your country, it becomes tangible. I’m afraid of everything that comes to my house. I don’t want anything to come to my house. I caught a cold, and every five minutes I thought it was the virus.

When you go out, it’s just like apocalyptic movies. People with masks. People who are afraid of each other. People that are running away from each other. The city became dark and full of disappointment. You can feel that something bad is in the air.

Linda Carbonera, doing yoga in her Milan apartment.Photo: Courtesy of Linda Carbonera

“I lived here for three years, and I’ve met people that I’ve never seen before. We talk to each other from our balconies.”

Photo: Courtesy of Linda Carbonera

An empty street in Milan.

Photo: Courtesy of Linda Carbonera

Social distancing squares at a market.

Photo: Courtesy of Linda Carbonera

Carbonera used to go out every night with friends—now, an impossibility. So she uses HouseParty instead.

Photo: Courtesy of Linda Carbonera

Linda Carbonera, Milan

Linda Carbonera is a digital product manager in Milan. She was interviewed on March 23.

In Milano, everything is closed. The only places that are open are grocery stores, Starbucks, and pharmacies. Before Sunday, we could go out to run, or some kind of fitness. Now we can’t do that anymore. So I started, I am working from home at the moment. On March 9, I started to work from home, but there were some companies in Italy that started before that. I’ve been at home for two weeks, going on my third.

I have two housemates. We go one time a week to the grocery store with each other. If we meet a neighbor on the stairs, we stay one meter away. It’s strange for me because I used to go out every night after work.

This is the problem of Italy: We don’t have medical personnel—so, doctors, nurses—and there’s not much room in the hospital. So we have to stay at home to avoid the spread. To help, people like me can only stay at home.

We for sure rediscovered a sense of a shared community. I lived here for three years, and I’ve met people that I’ve never seen before. We talk to each other from our balconies. People that have a car, when they go to the grocery store, they ask their neighbors if they need something. During normal times, I went out with people my same age. Now, I started to talk with an old man that lives near my home and he’s always on his balcony. He’s not used to staying at home either—so he started to do a lot of things on his balcony, like carpentry. I like to talk with him because we exchange opinions and I like hearing his stories, his point of view. They’re completely different from mine.

During the days, I work, and every day during the evening I do a yoga class—which is a good thing, because I can’t go out, and I used to walk five kilometers a day. I also started to read a lot. I finished two books. I go on HouseParty with a lot of my friends. My mother even downloaded HouseParty. I started painting. There’s a lot of memes and videos and people that do really funny things. I think a person can spend all day watching these funny things that people do—because they are crazy!

I am really afraid about the Italian economy. I’m really afraid about the situation for people who lose their work. I’m also afraid of losing my work. Sometimes I tell myself, maybe we can go out again in June. But we don’t know a lot about this virus.

In Italy, we don’t have high salaries. A lot of friends of mine are starting to think about their lives. I also do it—what’s the meaning of my life? I think it’s a good thing to think about our lives and our values.

Washington, D.C. at night.Photo: Courtesy of Anonymous
Exposed to COVID-19 at an event and feeling ill, a penguin humidifier is (goofy) solace.Photo: Courtesy of Anonymous

Anonymous, Washington, D.C.

Anonymous works in Washington, D.C. Exposed to COVID-19 in early March, she was one of the early waves of Americans to get tested—and experienced the bureaucratic system in the process. She ended up being negative. Anonymous was interviewed on March 10.

I feel like crap. Flu crap. I got exposed to COVID-19 during an event and was immediately tested, so I’m waiting on the results to come back. Should be soon … I hope. I haven’t left my house in days.

I was taken to the ER, had my vitals taken immediately, and then was whisked via wheelchair to an isolation room. My doctor had to put on layers and layers of protective gear in order to walk into the room with me. They had to get in touch with the CDC to determine whether I could be tested.

I was then stuck in a cold isolation chamber for three hours with a dying phone and a television playing bad Bryan Singer movies in the corner. I wore a mask the entire time. I needed to keep my phone alive because the doctor said he’d text me updates rather than having to walk in and out of the room and changing into protective gear. Once the CDC made the determination, the guy came back in and swabbed my throat and nose. Then they placed it in a test tube for the CDC to pick up the next day. I was told to self-isolate until the CDC had a diagnosis. From that began several days of anxiety.

The problem was, people in my area were sort of convinced that we had some time before COVID hit, so I felt a bit of pressure to carry on with my normal life. I even felt guilty for saying to my work, “Hey, I have cold symptoms, I’m going to work from home, is that cool?” And that was before I learned that my event had been hit.

My family and friends are concerned and checking in a bunch. I’m currently casually talking to two guys. Corona comes up fucking nonstop. It’s really the only story of the day, plus I am waiting on test results, so that makes sense. I can’t tell if the first guy is sort of doing perfunctory check-ins—or whether we don’t know each other enough to have sustained conversations yet. But the second guy and I have a better rapport, so our coronavirus conversations are all-encompassing. Way more jokes, too. But I have no idea how they will react if I do get it. Everybody wash your hands.

I know I’m in the demographic that should be safe. I’m in my late 20s/early 30s, I don’t have any preexisting conditions, and I’m in relatively good shape with no lung problems. My only worry is whether I’ve accidentally exposed someone else. Even though I’ll probably never know, it’s still going to bother me.