Stoop comes from the Dutch word "stoep" meaning "platform" or "pavement." The etymology points to New York's past as a Dutch colony.

When brownstones were single-family dwellings, the ground floor entrances were used by service staff and deliveries, while the main entrance at the top of the stoop led directly to the parlor.

In their original Dutch setting, stoops were designed to mitigate flooding. New York didn't suffer from much flooding, though the design remained popular.

In 2006, an article in the New Yorker claimed that the design's pervasiveness overseas was due to the separation from ground level. The raised entrance was highly coveted as the streets were often left littered with horse manure, "In the summer time, it stank to the heavens; when the rains came, a soupy stream of horse manure flooded the crosswalks and seeped into people’s basements."

Luckily days of horse poop are far behind us. And thus, stoops have taken on a role as an extension of our homes where neighbors can congregate.

Jane Jacobs writes in The Death and Life of Great American Cities that stoop culture is a quintessential part of the city's liveliness.

According to Jacobs, stoop sitters serve as the "eyes on the street," who look out for one another.

She writes, "there must be eyes upon the street, eyes belonging to those we might call the natural proprietors of the street."

"The sidewalk must have users on it fairly continuously, both to add to the number of effective eyes on the street and to induce the people in buildings along the street to watch the sidewalks in sufficient numbers."

"Nobody enjoys sitting on a stoop or looking out a window at an empty street. Almost nobody does such a thing. Large numbers of people entertain themselves, off and on, by watching street activity," writes Jacobs.

For New Yorkers lucky enough to live in a building with a stoop, they may find that it provides a space between the privacy of an apartment and the business of the street.