My First Apartment: the Big Apple

It only took about two months and hundreds of hours hunched over the computer, but I finally did it: I got my very own apartment, in New York City. After living in the slums during college (which my parents graciously funded), I wanted to leave the University of Michigan behind me and get an &#39adult&#39 apartment. No futons, no red SOLO cups and no parental contributions. This apartment was going to be mine, and I wanted to be proud of my new home.

By COED Staff

Considering that I moved back into my parents’ house, post-college, I knew that finding an apartment rivaling their home would be a tough match. How do you get a dishwasher, washer and dryer, and live-in housekeeper for under $800 a month? You don’t, not in New York.

But, I did find something – something amazing, actually: large bedrooms, wood floors, windows (that provide sunlight and not just views of other buildings!), a beautiful kitchen and a really great landlord. There was no dishwasher, but it was as close to perfection as I was going to find. I had to have it.

After haggling with the landlord, I was handed the keys. I jumped for joy, all the way to the martini bar, to celebrate. I threw back a few (three) apple martinis and headed straight to the store where I spent days picking out the perfect accessories for my new home. Because this was the beginning of my new life in the big city, I made sure every detail was absolutely perfect, from the dressers to the drapes. I lay in every bed, walked on every rug and wrapped myself in every towel. And it was all worth it.

Returning from a long day at work, I get an overwhelming sense of comfort as I come home to the first thing in my life that is 100 percent mine (minus the two roommates I share the apartment with – mandatory on an entry-level salary!). It is a perfect blend of old and new. There may not be an old keg in the corner of my kitchen like last year, but every wall carries pictures from my past (my freshman dorm, sorority date parties, family gatherings) and evidence of the present (my very first printed article!). My beautiful new martini glasses are home to my favorite old cocktails. And my brand-new bookshelves are stacked high and deep with my thousands of college memories.

Every hour I spent devoted to finding this place – from late nights spent on Craigslist to the early mornings scouring the flea markets – was more than worth it when I wake up on a Sunday morning, throw on my slippers and plop down on my maroon, over-stuffed leather couch. An apartment may not seem like much, but for a young person in a big city, this tiny span of space is all you really have to call your own.