My three-story walk-up apartment in the West Village has some dreamy qualities: original exposed brick walls, classic crown molding, and a claw-foot tub.
Perhaps best of all, it’s rent-stabilized, meaning annual rent increases are capped, and tenants retain the right to renew the lease each year.
Rent for the one-bedroom, 380-square-foot space is about $2,000 a month. It feels like a steal considering it’s rare to find even a studio apartment in this desirable neighborhood for under $3,000 a month.
I’ve been here most of my life, as this apartment is where I was raised with my dad and stepmother. When I tell people this, they often look at me with one eyebrow raised and ask, “How did you all fit in here?” to which I respond, “Tightly.”
Growing up having no personal space and sharing one tiny bathroom was challenging, to say the least. I still sleep in my childhood “bedroom,” which is really just part of the living room sectioned off by a curtain.
In high school, if I wanted to have my boyfriend over, I had to warn him that anything he said would be used against him, since my father was most definitely listening from his bedroom less than 5 feet away from mine.
Now that I’m in my 20s and my dad doesn’t plan to stay in the city forever, I’m hoping to take over the lease. The apartment is small with many quirks and drawbacks, but it’s basically a dream come true for any native New Yorker.
I can’t imagine giving up such a gem in the competitive, pricey market.
Living here has come with some challenges
When I was younger, I always felt so grateful to live in the West Village that I was ignorant of many of the apartment’s flaws, including its lack of built-in closets.
Quite literally, all the storage space I have had has come from Ikea dressers and wardrobes I built with my dad. Everything I own has to fit inside them, so I’ve learned to be extremely selective about what I keep in my life.
Still, the small space feels unnecessarily cluttered almost all the time.
Because of the apartment’s tight dimensions and strange layout, I have also become skilled at playing Tetris while furnishing and redecorating.
The bathroom is directly adjacent to the front door, with the kitchen counter jutting out and blocking a significant portion of the already tiny walkway into the apartment. If the bathroom door is even halfway open, no one can get into or out of the apartment.
This layout also means that trying to lug a massive couch, mattress, or chairs into the living room requires multiple shifts of the object to find the pesky angles of the entranceway.
Unfortunately, I’ve had to return a couch because, although it fit the dimensions of the apartment, it could not pass the bathroom-door-and-kitchen-countertop test.
The apartment’s location and amenities aren’t perfect, but the perks outweigh any drawbacks
As I open the curtains in the morning, I am greeted by a view of the walls of another apartment building and the trash. In the wintertime, sunlight is especially hard to come by in the space.
Speaking of winter — when it’s cold outside, the radiator makes more noise than a dramatic soprano warming up in her dressing room.
It hisses and clangs so aggressively that when someone new is over, they’ll ask if someone is breaking into the apartment. These sounds make it hard to fall asleep in the winter.
Also, the radiator is scorching hot to the touch. If I accidentally bump into it, I’m walking away with a minor welt on my leg. But hey, at least I have heat, right?
The lack of laundry in the building and the fact that the only sink is in the kitchen — there isn’t one in the bathroom — isn’t great, either.
For me, though, the true struggle is having two restaurants located under me on either side of the building. There’s constant chatter and the slamming of doors that lead from the back of the restaurants to the trash chutes.
On the bright side, it helps me never feel alone, which can be nice in a city that can feel isolating at times.
I also tend to put these qualms aside when I remember that I’m about a five-minute stroll from the Hudson River piers and a 10-minute walk to several subway lines. Plus, one of the apartments above me recently got rented for more than double my rent, over $4,000 a month.
I can’t imagine giving up the community and security of this place
In all honesty, though, I feel like I have Monica Geller’s “Friends” apartment, but much smaller. (I even live a few blocks away from the building that was used as the exterior shot for it on the show.)
It has quirks, but that makes it feel very New York. It’s also got history and character, as it hasn’t been renovated or touched by modern architects in a long time.
I may always complain about the noise from the restaurants below or about having to constantly get rid of things to declutter my tiny space, but I love my home and my neighbors.
I’m friends with the owner of the deli across the street, who used to hand me a breakfast sandwich and an orange juice every morning before school. (Later, I learned my dad had set up a weekly payment system with him.)
A family friend runs a liquor store nearby, and the restaurant under me used to be owned by my father. The new owner always invites me to have dinner for free.
I have security, I have community, and I have memories here.
My apartment is far from perfect, but that’s what makes it home. I wouldn’t trade my home for anything … even if I was offered a bigger place with a sink in the bathroom.
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