On the Road or In the Hole

Why I Splurged for a City Car

My one bedroom apartment in Manhattan is in the quaint yet convenient West Village neighborhood downtown. My home is also the size of my mom’s kitchen in the suburbs, but that’s another story. I live two blocks from a local subway station, six blocks from an express station, and near three bike share docking stations. I have Lyft, Juno and Via ready to go, but I mostly use Curb which lets me pay for yellow cabs. I work from home, live by myself, and do most of my socializing in my walkable downtown neighborhood. Between work, the gym and a local bar, I usually don’t make it more than half a mile from home. My building has no driveway or garage. Available street parking is always jammed, so not really available. The closest parking garages start at $700 a month, which is more than a monthly payment on a luxury car . Everything I want to buy can be delivered to my door via internet magic, or I can pick it up on foot — and since my apartment is smaller than a suburban kitchen, I don’t own much beyond some furniture, a few garments and food. I enjoy a minimalist lifestyle supplemented by relatively cheap public transportation and my legs. The smart thing to do here is get a car.

OK no. For the past 20 years since I moved to Manhattan I haven’t owned a car despite loving all things automotive. There’s a new Mustang GT performance pack 2 with over 450 horsepower? That sounds like fun I’ll never have. BMW is now going back to soft top convertibles? Seems perfect, but, to me, a fantasy. You see the logic: it’s crazy expensive to park in the city, you don’t need a car to get where you want to go, when you do travel long distances you take a plane, train or bus, and who the hell knows where to have your car serviced? I know exactly where to buy a classic martini mixed by a guy who looks like he’s stepped through a wormhole from 1925. Seriously. Employees Only makes a nifty cocktail, but where do you find replacement wiper blades in Manhattan? Is there a boutique for them in Soho?

So I said no to car ownership. But time exerts its own gravity. While Manhattan is endlessly sleeplessly fun, working from home by yourself in a small island 2 miles wide by 12 miles long can feel like a gilded jail — albeit with high end cocktails. A man with blood in his veins needs fresh country air and the fear of speeding…

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