Dear friends and lovers,
I hope you had a nice holiday.
Some personal news . . . I am pleased to announce that, after only six months of living in Long Island City, I’ve finally left my mortal body and morphed into an architectural rendering!
Our apartment complex–cum–SheWork coffin tower is called the Lana, and, yes, me and the hus-king moved here in a desperate bid to save our marriage. And, hey—considering that we’re both trapped in a PDF as semitransparent computer-generated figures walking across a rendering of an open-air plaza, I guess it worked. He won’t be leaving me now!
We chose the Lana because there’s a members-only I.P.A. stouterie in the WeGarden where my partner in crime and I concoct disturbingly yummy custom brews. My personal favorite: the ShyP.A. (Because I’m kind of classically shy—and even more so now that I only exist on the Web site of the Lana, in a downloadable brochure for potential buyers.)
Yes, I subscribe to my furniture.
Yes, I only get my CBD highlighter at face-painteries where dogs are welcome.
Yes, I honor my hus-king’s eggplant emoji on our pizza-emoji sheets.
Yes, I can still shop at the Kooples—they carry digital sizes.
Yes, I’m a badass, no-shit-taking, randomly anti-choice “sustainable-real-estate investor” who works at a “nonprofit” that helps forcibly remove poor people from their homes, and, no, I’m not ashamed.
I’ve already scheduled my funeral. It’s gonna be inside the all-glass fireplace in the ninetieth-floor lounge. Bring your Sonos—this is a celebration!
Oh, and, because I’m super chill about money, I’ll straight-up tell you my rent. It’s honestly only eleven thousand dollars a month—pick your jaw up off the floor—and I’m not including the hundos I light on fire to feel alive. Because, as I may have mentioned, I no longer am.
Huge shout-out to Nest and Alexa, my ride-or-die witches. Our coven is bae!
Please, please, join us at our housewarming—it quite literally is this e-mail, but it’ll still take you an hour to get there on the G.
Hope you’re well!
xo,
Chloe
