The New York Times agrees Philly is the place to be (locals still skeptical) | Weekly Report Card

Well, here we go again. Philadelphia has once more been crowned the world’s best place to visit in 2026 — this time by the New York Times, which means we are now in the extremely Philly position of being right twice and still deeply suspicious about it.

Yes, the reasons are familiar. The Semiquincentennial. The World Cup. The All-Star Game. Fireworks, parades, exhibitions, concerts, TED talks, themed balls, and a calendar so packed it feels like someone dared the city to see what would break first. It’s a lot. Enough, apparently, to push Philly to the top of the Times’ “52 Places to Go” list.

But at this point, the events are almost beside the point. Big moments don’t explain why people want to be here, they just give them an excuse.

Philly keeps landing on these lists because it’s a place that feels alive even when nothing “special” is happening. It’s opinionated without being curated. Historic without being precious. Welcoming in a way that involves some yelling, a little side-eye, and eventually someone telling you where to eat. You don’t visit Philly to be impressed. You visit to be absorbed.

So why not an A+? Because every time the outside world decides Philly is the place to be, the city pays for it in very real ways. Hotel prices climb. SEPTA gets stress-tested. Streets designed for horse traffic brace for global crowds. And locals are once again asked to host a massive party while still making it to work, daycare pickup, and whatever delayed train they’re already standing on.

There’s also the small matter of validation fatigue. Philly didn’t suddenly get good because the New York Times said so — just like it didn’t when the Wall Street Journal said it. The city’s been doing this for a long time, whether or not anyone was paying attention.

Nothing says Philadelphia quite like being named the top travel destination in the world for 2026 and, at the exact same time, going viral for a road sign that simply reads: “Avoid Philadelphia.” No explanation. No branding. Just a warning.

The photo resurfaced on r/philly and immediately became a public forum for collective truth-telling. When one user asked, “Why?” the answers poured in: “The usual reasons.” “Mental health reasons. Financial reasons.” “SEPTA.” Another went full blunt-force: “Bad things happen in Philly.”

Of course, the Eagles entered the chat. “Eagles lost yesterday,” one commenter offered. Another countered, “Or Eagles won yesterday… Could be Eagles just did a thing. Go Birds.” Honestly, both feel correct.

Then came the traffic trauma. “Spend a day on the Blue Route,” someone wrote — a sentence that should probably be included in driver’s ed. One person proposed Google Maps should add a new setting: “avoid highways, avoid toll roads, avoid Philadelphia.”

But buried in the comments was the buzzkill reality check: This sign is almost certainly old. Several users pointed out it likely dates back to the I-95 bridge collapse in 2023, when avoiding Philadelphia was not a vibe, but a Department of Transportation directive. “Why are you posting a 5+ year old pic?” one top commenter asked, ruining the mystery but improving the accuracy.

But the timing is what makes this perfect. As the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times roll out the red carpet for 2026, locals are standing off to the side holding a faded road sign like, just so you know. It’s not anti-tourism. It’s informed consent.

An A for honesty, context, and a comment section that somehow functions as a city guide, traffic alert, sports recap, and warning label… even when the photo is old.

The Eagles enter the playoffs as a No. 3 seed, a position that history treats like a warning label. The math is rude: Few No. 3 seeds make the Super Bowl, and most of them don’t even sniff it. The Eagles themselves have tried this route before and usually wound up packing up by the divisional round. Not great.

And yes, this is at least partially self-inflicted. Resting the starters in Week 18 cost them a real shot at the No. 2 seed and an objectively easier path. That decision is already being litigated in every bar, group chat, and radio segment. And it will keep getting relitigated until either A) the Eagles lose or B) they win enough that no one wants to admit they were wrong.

Here’s the thing, though: This specific matchup is not terrifying.

The 49ers limping into the Linc with injuries, tired legs, and a defense that is no longer the Final Boss version Philly remembers? That’s manageable. The Eagles’ defense has been the most reliable unit all season, and if this game turns into trench warfare, that favors the Birds. Saquon Barkley doesn’t need to be vintage playoff Saquon yet. He just needs to exist long enough to keep the offense functional.

Still, the unease is earned. This is a team with Super Bowl expectations walking a historically unfriendly path, powered by a defense everyone trusts and an offense no one fully believes in. That’s not nothing. That’s the whole tension.

So yes, the road is harder than it needed to be. Yes, the margin for error is thin. And yes, if this goes sideways, the No. 3 seed will be Exhibit A in the postmortem.

Nothing says Philadelphia like scrolling Facebook Marketplace and suddenly finding the neon soul of a demolished diner listed as “very heavy and totally cool.”

Yes, the iconic Melrose Diner sign — red, yellow, stainless steel nostalgia and all — is apparently for sale. Not at auction. Not through a preservation society. Not behind glass in a museum. Just vibes, photos, and the immortal Marketplace closer: “Serious inquiries only.”

There’s something perfectly on-brand about this. The Melrose didn’t go out quietly. It didn’t get a tasteful plaque or a respectful archival goodbye. It got torn down for apartments, went into “storage,” and has now reemerged like a ghost asking for a sizable offer and a pickup truck.

The listing itself is doing a lot of work: four pieces, sold as a set, “used — good,” with the helpful reminder that Olga’s Diner once sold signage for $12,000. Philly translation: Don’t lowball me, I know what I’ve got.

Selling the sign feels a little like selling a family photo album. The Melrose wasn’t just a diner — it was late nights, early mornings, post-bar waffles, post-court appearance coffees, and at least one story involving a mobster, depending on who you ask.

There are lines you don’t cross in this city, and stealing a beloved bar’s decades-old walrus penis bone is absolutely one of them.

Donkey’s Place didn’t ask questions about the bone for years — it just existed, looming behind the bar like a strange guardian angel of cheesesteaks and beers. It wasn’t sentimental, it wasn’t precious. It was just there. Which somehow makes taking it worse.

The alleged thief wrapped it in a scarf and walked out like this was Ocean’s Eleven: South Jersey Edition, and now the bar is left explaining to the internet why they’re asking nicely for a walrus baculum to be returned, no police report, no drama, just vibes and decency.

The deduction from an A is only because this never should’ve happened. Otherwise, this is peak Philly-area energy: a historic bar, an inexplicable artifact, security footage, TikTok pleas, and a collective regional agreement that yes, this matters.

Mail it back. No questions asked. Everyone will pretend this never happened.

You don’t need a calendar to tell you winter has arrived in Philadelphia. You just need to walk down Ninth Street and see a trash can on fire.

The barrels come back when mornings turn brutal and vendors are out before dawn, unloading boxes, setting up stalls, and bracing against the cold. This isn’t nostalgia or aesthetic — it’s practical. A few minutes of heat for hands that don’t get to stay in pockets, a pause before the work continues.

They’re regulated, debated, occasionally questioned, and absolutely unmoved by any of that. Every winter, they come back anyway. Not as a statement, but as a fact of life.

When spring shows up, they’ll disappear again. Until then, the fire’s on.