Tighter rules hamper moneymaking opportunities
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By RALPH GARDNER JR.
Updated July 24, 2016 7:38 p.m. ET
It has been about a month since the city started corralling Times Square’s self-assertive Elmos, Spider-Men and desnudas into “designated activity zones.”
So how’s it working out? “All my friends is no good in this area,” said a costumed Mickey Mouse. He was referring to several other Mickey and Minnie Mouses nearby, as well as a large bird with an orange beak and black buttons I had trouble recognizing from Saturday mornings. “They harass us. No like.”
That was the extent of our conversation. I might have chalked it up to a language barrier, but it was more likely the imperatives of making a fast buck. Apparently, opportunities have dwindled now that their ability to roam has been restricted. “They’re complaining; there’s less of them,” said a police officer.
“Nobody is happy in this spot,” explained Josh Barillas, a former costumed character who had dropped by to visit his buddies. Mr. Barillas recalled the halcyon era, several months back, when he said could make $200 a day.
One performer apparently feeling little pain is the Naked Cowboy, Robert Burck. “I’m out here every day and have been for 18 years,” he said. “I was the first one here and I’ll be the last one here. It hasn’t affected my business in any way.”
I’d previously spotted the Naked Cowboy, as have most who have enjoyed the mixed blessing of traversing Times Square. But I was never inclined to make conversation. Since we were doing so now, I asked him how he maintains his superhero bod.
By the way, while the city’s creation of the designated activity zones may have inhibited some of the cartoon characters’ earning power, I’d like politely to suggest another reason may be that many of their physiques and personalities seem to fall short of the comic-hero ideal.
Iron Man, as portrayed by Robert Downey Jr. in the movie franchise, is a can-do, life-affirming sort. The Iron Man I encountered in the designated zone was a sullen individual whom no child with an ounce of common sense would mistake for the Marvel Comics genius playboy.
“Sorry, I’m busy right now,” Iron Man said when I tried to have a word. His costume looked less like powered armor than something assembled from the Great Pacific garbage patch. “I need looking for customers.”
One more suggestion: It doesn’t enhance the superhero effect when you have a clear vinyl nametag holder hanging from your gut that says “I work for tips please.”
It’s understood you work for tips. Antoinette, a tourist from Pennsylvania who declined to give her last name, knew that was the deal when she was swarmed by characters after she asked to have a photo taken. Each had his or her hand fully extended.
“We like taking the pictures with them, but they do beg for money,” Antoinette conceded.
Here’s some stuff you may not know about the Naked Cowboy: He lives in Queens with his wife, the Naked Cowgirl—or, rather, one of Times Square’s naked cowgirls. He swims an hour at Jones Beach on Tuesday, his day off, and he goes to the gym twice a week whether he needs to or not. “Right now I’m so thin and lean I don’t have to do much to look like this,” he said, without sounding especially self-congratulatory.
He also attributes his success in part to free parking at a nearby garage. To him that’s a much bigger deal than whether he gets to parade his underpants inside or outside the box. “Without the parking I wouldn’t be able to do this job,” he confessed.
My final stop, at the recommendation of a police officer, was Sandy Kane, a former stripper of a certain age and perhaps Times Square’s most senior Naked Cowgirl.
Ms. Kane is instantly recognizable as much for her habit of veering outside the designated activity zones as for her lush head of purple hair and signature middle-finger gesture.
She complained she was surrounded by cops last week and escorted to one of the zones where she was forced to share space with obnoxious Elmos and CD salesmen she claimed were selling blanks.
“They said, ‘We’ll walk you over there,’” she recalled, adding, “I don’t like the sun.”
— ralph.gardner@wsj.com