My girlfriend asked me recently if going to open houses at all these multimillion-dollar luxury mansions that I couldn’t afford unless I got a 750-year mortgage made me want to spray paint excerpts from “The Communist Manifesto” on bank buildings, and go assemble molotov cocktails at the local socialist meeting hall. My answer was no. (I know, I’m as surprised as you.) Setting aside the open secret that expensive mansions often feel sterile and despair-inducingly huge (for every 10-foot increase in ceiling height, expect a 10% higher awareness of your own smallness and, by extension, mortality), I guess it’s just so far out of the realm of possibility that it just doesn’t even register. (Plus, I’m completely unwilling to do anything – go to law school, cut my hair, wake up before 3PM – that could earn me huge amounts of money.)
Places like this do kind of throw me off though, because they are obtainable. Even if I couldn’t get a mortgage (and I definitely couldn’t get a mortgage – when my landlord checked my credit, he said “it literally could not be worse”), I could probably beg and guilt various wealthy friends and family members and get the money together. Nice, affordable apartments actually make me sweaty and nervous, like when the married couples in your social circle maneuvers you into a cab with the only other single person in your group.
Is this place perfect? No, but for this price, who cares? It’s in a dignified brick building in always-desirable Adams Morgan, and the mortgage payments would be less than the rent you’re paying now, unless you live in a house with seven other people and pay $300 to live in a walk-in closet. You walk in, and the main living room area is large and bright; you could fit a whole lot of furniture in here, though that doesn’t mean you should. Minimalism has its appeal, and if you don’t have a large sofa, your out-of-town friends can’t invite themselves for the weekend. I know what you’re thinking, looking at these pics: the wall to wall carpet. I know, it’s not ideal, but then again, carpet has its appeal. Carpet is like sweatpants; they look terrible, but feel great. Walking on a cold hardwood floor is the feet equivalent to having a wet finger thrust into your ear. And if you opt to tear it all out, there are probably some very nice hardwood floors hiding under there, judging by the kitchen.
Speaking of the kitchen – this one is a lot like mine, in that it’s a small kitchen(ette) that’s been blocked off from the rest of the apartment by a small arbitrary wall for no apparent reason other than to give you the illusion that you have a kitchen. I often stare at my own arbitrary kitchen wall and think that if it was knocked down, the apartment would feel so much more open. But I’m just a renter, so I can’t go knocking down walls. You, however, if you bought this place, would be totally authorized to grab the nearest 8-pound sledgehammer and get to demolishing. Just uh make sure there’s no load-bearing supports in there, or you’re going to bring the whole building crashing in on itself and then go on CNN and be like, “it’s not my fault, a real estate blog told me to do it.”
The bedroom is nice and roomy; the listing says it fits a king sized bed and a dresser, which I suppose is technically true, though you may have to lean the bed against the wall or cut it in half or something. The bathroom is quite nice, with mint green walls, a freestanding tub and vintage tile floors; it looks like a sitcom bathroom, in which Zooey Deschanel interrogates herself in the mirror after a failed date. And finally, you’ll be living in Adams Morgan which, against all odds, has proven to be durably cool while other neighborhoods somehow zoomed directly from moribund to passe.
1820 Clydesdale Place NW #112
1 Bed, 1 Bath