The Uncomfortable Tango of Rent and Rembrandt I was twenty-seven, sitting on a kitchen floor that hadn’t known a mop since the elder Bush was in office, staring at an electricity bill that had apparently mated with a student loan statement and birthed a litter of late fees. In the corner sat a half-finished painting—a …

Let’s get one thing straight: being broke in New York City isn’t really about deprivation. It’s about getting wildly inventive while side-stepping mild public embarrassment. I’ve killed whole afternoons looping Central Park pretending I was on a deeply urgent phone call, just to avoid admitting I had nowhere to be and exactly zero dollars. But …

On the Art of Living in a Tiny Apartment and Liking It Let me tell you about my apartment. It’s 380 square feet, which, for those keeping track, is roughly the size of a generous parking space. A parking space with a stove, a bed that folds out of a wall, and a bathroom where …