The aesthetic vibe of the apartment is hipster Scandinavian, a state that had been achieved by Jacqueline Schmidt, the director of design at Ollie, a company that has embellished Carmel Place with housewares, furniture and services, from dry cleaning to “unique community engagement opportunities” — in other words, mixers, day trips and other “curated events” geared to well-employed millennials (urban renters, in Ollie’s parlance).
There were knobbly succulents in small ceramic biomorphic planters with leather straps hung on a wall (succulents are good pets for small-scale living, since they don’t need much attention, as Ms. Schmidt pointed out)…
“It is the working mother’s dreamscape!” wrote Ginia a few days later. “Micro apartments take me away — 300-Lego-free square feet! But where do you put the books?”
The best part of the evening, to my mind, was being alone again, after whisking away the pizza boxes and the bottles, shrinking the table back to its slim desk size, and unfolding my namesake bed. I killed the lights, slid open the window and raised the opaque shade, so I could see a linden tree from my nest. As I drifted off to sleep, I imagined a life swept clean of my grubby, needy possessions and instead envisioned a new, improved one that was sparely accessorized by Ms. Schmidt’s resilient and independent succulents, neutral art prints and soft baskets. So lightly encumbered, I would spring easily from my tasteful and tidy micro unit into the cultural soup of the city. Which is the point, of course.