Zohran Wins, Immediately Renames City “New Yorch,” Insists It’s Spicier

NEW YORCH—At 9:47 p.m., the networks called it. At 9:47:02, Zohran Mamdani’s victory speech was already over.

Microphone still smoking from the drop, the mayor-elect sprinted to the jumbotron in Times Square, commandeered the TKTS countdown clock, and typed with two thumbs:

OFFICIAL: EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, NEW YORK IS NEW YORCH. THE H IS PRONOUNCED LIKE YOU JUST BIT A SCOTCH BONNET. DEAL WITH IT.

Forty-seven seconds later, every borough’s Wi-Fi auto-renamed itself “NewYorchSpice5G.” My phone asked for a password in ALL CAPS SAUCE. I typed “VALENTINA” and was granted access to a playlist titled “Songs That Slap Harder Than Rent.”

Sources inside the campaign—speaking through a megaphone made of rolled-up campaign signs—confirm the rebrand was not on any briefing binder. “We had a 400-page transition memo,” one aide told me, voice cracking. “Page one just says ‘Step 1: Win. Step 2: Yeet the vowels.’ We thought it was a joke until the jumbotron started bleeding paprika pixels.”

By 9:49, the Empire State Building’s crown flashed cayenne. The NYPD drone fleet, still hovering for crowd control, rebranded mid-air; their undercarriage LEDs now scroll “WELCOME TO THE HOT GIRL CITY.” A tourist from Nebraska asked if this was the new Marvel drop. A pigeon landed on his pretzel and nodded yes.

At 9:51, every yellow cab’s rooftop ad flipped to a single frame: Zohran winking next to the words “THE BIG APPLE IS NOW THE BIG CHILE.” Uber surge pricing auto-capped at “one high-five and a lime wedge.” One driver, reached on the FDR, told me his GPS voice now sounds like Cardi B gargling sriracha.

Wall Street after-hours trading froze when the ticker crawled: DOW JONES OFFICIALLY A SNACK. SHORT THE PRETZELS. A Goldman Sachs VP texted me a single chili-pepper emoji and then Venmo’d his therapist $400 with the memo “emotional bail-out.”

By 9:54, the subway’s 1 train rolled into 42nd Street blaring reggaeton. The conductor, over the intercom: “Next stop, 42nd Str33t-H. Mind the gap or I’ll read your group chat aloud.” Riders applauded. One man proposed to his girlfriend on the spot. She said yes, then asked if the ring came with hot honey.

At 9:57, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade Committee received an email titled “URGENT: BALLOON AUDITIONS.” Attached: a single Photoshop of Snoopy wearing a Palestinian keffiyeh and holding a molcajete. Subject line: “He’s ready to bring the heat.”

This reporter attempted to file a 100-word flash alert. My laptop autocorrected “New York” to “New Yorch” 14 times and then locked me out until I solved a CAPTCHA that asked, “Spell ‘jalapeño’ while crying.” I passed on the third try.

At 11:59, Zohran FaceTimed the Port Authority from the TKTS red steps. “LaGuardia is now LaLucha,” he declared, holding a squeeze bottle of salsa verde like a Super Soaker. “Flights still late, but now every delay comes with complimentary chips and existential clarity.”

As the clock struck midnight, every bodega cat in the five boroughs received a push notification: “Congrats, you are now Deputy Spice Commissioner. Uniform: tiny sombrero.” Security footage shows 4,000 cats saluting in unison.

Election night confetti is still falling. It’s red, it’s glittery, and it tastes faintly of Tajín. Somewhere in the crowd, a baby took its first steps just to chase a floating chili pepper. The child’s first word: “More.”

This is Max Quill, signing off from the newly christened Yorch Square. My press badge now reads “Spice Correspondent.” I have been ordered to garnish every future byline with a lime wedge. Back to you in the studio—assuming the studio still has a name that isn’t 40% hotter.