It is a truth universally acknowledged that to live in New York City is to imagine where you might live in New York City. Which means you spend time looking at real estate listings, or watching those viral TikToks where you tour New Yorkers' homes.

My mom moved a lot when I was growing up, and I have so many memories of the different houses she lived in. The house with the cold slate kitchen floors. The house with the wisteria that grew above the garage door. The house that was painted in Clue colors (my bedroom was Colonel Mustard). The house where I got my driver's permit, with the avocado tree in the back that we got kicked out of when the landlord suddenly decided to move back in.

I've been looking for a way to write more frequently to combat my habit of spending too much time on the dark timeline (read: Twitter. I'm old and it will always be Twitter to me). So this is what I'm going to do. The path of least resistance is writing about something I do already.

What this is, and isn't

My "reviews" of listings aren't really reviews. I'm not talking about them like a real estate agent, because I'm not one. I'm not talking about every listing like I know it's good or bad value — that is highly subjective. I like to imagine who should buy this house or that house. I like to think about whether I would like to live somewhere.

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