Why We Need to Reframe the Stigma of Having Roommates
A case for same-sex platonic cohabitation.
Iwill be the first to admit that I have subscribed to the belief that as a grown-ass 49-year-old woman, I have lived long enough to have earned the right to be an adult without a roommate.
The last time I had a roommate, the White House was occupied by the Clinton Administration. When I moved in with my first husband in the middle of 2000, I celebrated it as the end of ever having a roommate again.
There has always been a weird adulthood rite of passage connected to the obsoletion of roommates. That needs to change. We need a reframe.
A year and a half ago, on the verge of emptynesthood and at the end of the most spectacular midlife crisis, I sold my home of 15 years and moved into a 775 sq. ft. apartment in an artsy section of downtown Phoenix.
When I considered the expenses of owning my home compared to renting in a downtown midrise, it evened out. That is no longer the case. With my 7% rent increase, I currently pay $1,930 a month. If I walked in off the street to rent my apartment, 18-months after I moved in, my rent would be $2,265.
