When my husband and I got married seven years ago, I was renting a place on West 72nd Street. We decided that we wanted to buy an apartment because we realized that the maintenance and mortgage would come to the same amount we were spending on rent anyway. It was a better business decision. We knew that a studio was all we could afford, because a one-bedroom would cost another $250,000.
I loved West 72nd and wanted to stay in the area, so I looked at tons of places nearby—at least 25. But each time I thought I’d found a place, I’d call my real estate agent, and she’d say, “I’m not wasting my time or yours. You’d never be accepted in that building.” We did put in a couple of bids, but they weren’t accepted, because our combined income was too low.