Now I Don't Feel So Friggin Bad

AMNY, Newsday's daily free paper, had a feature Friday about a couple living together in a 295 square foot apartment in Chelsea. I would guess that my apartment clocks in at around the same square footage, but where I have length, they have width (lucky ducks!). However, their apartment is pretty much configured the same as mine, a classic railroad flat. At first, I stared at the picture of them, cosy in their tiny abode, way jealous of the nicey-niceness of the space. Then I took at look at what they are currently paying for their pad; $1,675 per month!! Gasp! Shock! Horror! Can a place that tiny really go for so much? Well, read the article folks because apparently, it's much more commonplace than I originally thought.

I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised. Several years ago, when feeling a bit of the summer doldrums one feels when they aren't allowed to have A/C in their living space, I decided to take a looksy at the apartment pool again. What I saw, for the amount they demanded, shocked me right back into my little shoebox. It was then I learned I was officially priced out of the city forever. You see, it wasn't always like this...

When I first moved here, cheap apartments were a skosh easier to come by. However, I moved here a pauper, with not enough to plunk down for a decent broker, and certainly not enough to pay several months of rent in advance, as was expected. There were also more neighborhood options open in terms of the rental market, but they weren't yet safe for a single girl in her mid twenties. Brooklyn was a place where you moved to have kids, or for huge multiple bedrooms. Or in defeat. I settled by accident in Gramercy and watched as this neighborhood became so hot it took me years until I began to feel like I fit in. I still don't dine much on Irving Place!

Still, I don't feel so bad knowing that many continue to live in such small spaces in order to remain here. It's just another quirky, kooky aspect of city living.