The place a “man” chooses to live is often his making or breaking in this town. And the second he opts for Williamsburg, he’s already fucked three ways to Sunday. So why, dear God or whoever, would a self-respecting “man” packing any skin down there agree to live in a “dorm-like” structure called Common? Not only is the space little cubes stacked on top of each other that one must pay, at the minimum, $1,800 a month for, but it’s also designed to promote existing, essentially, in a vacuum. Perhaps most horrifying of all is the mission statement, touting that it’s “a community of passionate and creative people who live, work, and play together.”
Whatever happened to compartmentalizing one’s life, huh? Common’s aim to re-create the college experience (specifically of bros) is not only a testament to the massively pervasive Peter Pan syndrome plaguing the “men” of Williamsburg (and “men” in general), but an utter inability to think for oneself. You don’t even have to choose your roommates if you don’t want to. Or buy your own toilet paper (though one imagines you’ll at least get three-ply for the price you’re paying). Moreover, the presence of a “community manager” a.k.a. an R.A. takes navigating the neighborhood on your own right out of a “man’s” hands. Who needs to think when you have money?