A Renter’s Hell
When my sister Julia and I were walking around the city about a month ago, she looked up at the mega apartment complexes all around us and remarked, “How is it possible that of all the thousands and thousands of apartments in the city, there’s not one for me?” She and her roommate had been hunting for months and discovering over and over again that the only places they could afford considered a mini fridge a kitchen or lacked any front door security in a less-than-desirable area. And when they did find a place they liked, applications flooded in before they had a chance to inquire, rendering an inquiry pointless. Why are things like this?
The truth is, I have not much of an idea. I am not an expert on the housing market in NYC, nor am I hip to the cyclic waves of new renters that seem to crash every damn season. What I do know is that the Big Apple is currently the most expensive US city to live in, right above San Francisco. The average rent for a 1BR is almost $3k a month. And who is expected to fill these apartments? Recent college grads and young professionals who have just entered the job force as the lowest on the totem pole. As I wrote in my seventh grade six-word memoir, “Somewhere over the rainbow, life’s fair.” (And don’t come at me for cheating the word limit with a contraction. Let’s call it creativity, ya?")
On TikTok, one can see videos of lines around the block for newly listed places in the most popular neighborhoods. People waiting for hours just to say, “Oh, there’s no window in the bedroom? I’ll figure it out.” Then they promise their life’s savings to a fourth-floor walk-up with a landlord who will acknowledge the leaky faucet with a thumbs-up emoji and then flee the country.
I am a lucky one. I moved into NYC during the height of the pandemic—during a time of playbill tumbleweeds skittering through Times Square. Our U-Haul drove south as people laughed at us from across the highway median. Now, the apartment I live in is going for nearly $1k more a month than I currently pay! It’s crazy! If I were Julia and had been looking to move in right now, I might’ve seen the cons outweighing the pros, but we’re very different people.
And yes, I come from a very privileged place to be able to complain about this. Despite my luck with the market, I am able to afford a nice, safe place to live in comfort and can still buy groceries, movie tickets, and the occasional rum and coke.
But I do worry that if these prices persist, NYC will continue its transformation from a dreamer’s paradise into a place for only those who were born into the dream (or for those who can live here only because they found monetary success chasing the dream elsewhere). It’s an exciting prospect to start a new chapter in life, move into the big city, develop some new routines, walk some new streets, etc., but for many, those hopes are dashed before they even arise…
“Rents Surge in New York City at Double the National Rate,” writes The New York Times. Other headlines include: “Rental madness: Bidding wars supercharge NYC market”; “Manhattan Apartment Rents Soar to Record High With Demand Fierce”; and “Today’s NYC Housing Market: Great News For Luxury Buyers, Not For Everyone Else.” Imagine being faced with these warnings every day. Would you still be as excited to begin that new chapter? I don’t think so.
Sure, New York is a cool city. It has its merits, as does anywhere goddamn else. Why are y’all coming here, whoever you are? Are you really that excited about a homeless mental health crisis and a cacophony of jackhammers? Find somewhere that caters better to bikers, charges less for a smoothie, and has covered trash cans. People race here for the lifestyle and unknowingly deny others of that same standard of living. (Wow, I am the worst.)
But who am I kidding? People aren’t going to stop coming, apartments aren’t going to cheapen any time soon, and I sure as heck won’t stop complaining through it all, because it’s a hobby of mine.
In the end—and as you might’ve been able to tell from the tense in my fourth paragraph—Julia found an apartment. It’s at the tippy-top of her price range, and her room won’t have a real wall or a door, but c’est la vie in NYC (if you can pronounce French, that rhymes, thank you very much).
And I’ll end with an allusion to a similarly cutthroat situation, for those of you out there still hunting: may the odds be ever in your favor.