Space jams

Kelli Dunham, former nun

When Kelli Dunham first lived in the city more than ten years ago, she was a nun residing in a spacious and clean dorm in a convent on 127th Street. When she returned just over a year ago, she moved into a small three-bedroom Inwood apartment with two men she found on Craigslist. By that point, Dunham had long packed away her habit for her new life as a lesbian stand-up comic and author. “This is the place to do stand-up comedy,” Dunham says. “Every comic should live here at least once in their life.” Because of space constraints, her bedroom also functions as her home office. “When 1,000 copies of my latest stand-up CD, Almost Pretty, were delivered, I had to find something creative to do with them or I would have been completely displaced,” Dunham says. She couldn’t afford a separate storage space, so she used the boxes to build a half wall in her room, partitioning off her work area. “Apart from the living arrangement, being a traveling lesbian comedian and a nun aren’t all that different,” Dunham says, “except the ratio of sex to prayer is reversed.”

Ari Gaita, public-relations maven

Located on the top floor of an old Alphabet City tenement, Ari Gaita’s pad overlooks a park. “I have copious amounts of full sunlight streaming through the windows,” she says, citing the reason she’s stayed in the spot for about seven years, even though, like most tenements, the closet space is lacking. When an old-guard family on her floor—whose unrenovated apartment relied on a toilet in the hallway—finally left last year, Gaita saw her chance and threw a padlock on the WC’s door (after her super removed the toilet for her). “I went to Home Depot and told the guy my plans to turn the toilet room into a closet, and he said I’d need to do more than tape the seat down, otherwise my clothes would smell like…” Well, you get the idea. Gaita returned home with detailed instructions on how to plug a toilet drain and got to work. The result: a new closet and newfound confidence in her handywoman abilities. “I live in this city for the people,” she says. “It is a world where even the absurd can feel normal.” And the small plugged circle in the floor of her closet serves as a perfect reminder.

Erin Davis, production manager

Erin Davis works for Polo Ralph Lauren and lives in what most would consider the ideal apartment: a large one-bedroom with massive closets and a huge living room, located in the middle of Manhattan on 57th Street. The problem? Her kitchen is in a tiny hall between her entryway and bathroom, with just two burners, no oven and a mini fridge (hello, college). Storage space is nonexistent, so her pots and pans often end up in the tub, and she uses the bathroom sink as counter space. Plus, if Davis is cooking, she blocks off the entrance to the bathroom, so guests have to hold it until she’s done. Still, she loves her place. “The main reason is that it has two huge closets with sliding doors, plus a separate coat closet,” she gushes. “Obviously, working in fashion, closet space is at a premium and trumps all other concerns, including the kitchen.” In fact, Davis, who grew up in St. Louis, just signed a lease for another year of draining pasta in her tub. “New York is the greatest city in the world,” she says. “And it’s also the best city for my career in the fashion industry.” And let’s face it: Cooking isn’t what makes most fashionistas famous.

Jerome Kapeller, musician

For years, Zeta Vang singer-guitarist Jerome Kapeller shuffled his equipment between gigs and apartments on the outskirts of Queens and Brooklyn. But three years ago, he’d had enough. “I was tired of feeling so far from the center, and really wanted to be in the middle of the music scene,” he says. That’s when he heard about a prime piece of real estate in Greenwich Village. He hadn’t won the Powerball or been picked up by Bad Boy Records—he’d just been tipped off by an acquaintance about an eight-by-eight room for rent. And it’s really just a room—the shared bathroom is in the building’s foyer, and the makeshift kitchen (just a microwave and a coffeemaker) is in a closet with no door. Clothes fill the bookcase instead of books, and the frameless futon is easy to fold up during band practice. “I’m basically like a guy living on a really well-organized tour bus—without the wheels, of course,” Kapeller says. He is intent on staying in New York for his musical aspirations, and so far it seems to be paying off—his first CD is about to drop—and he actually loves his small setup. “I feel really lucky,” he says. “And hey, Kurt Cobain was homeless before Nevermind came out!”

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