Not Just a Job, More Like an Adventure

By C.J. HUGHES
Published: October 31, 2008
JEN PEPPER and Matt Jones, from opposite ends of a lime-colored hall, are furtively dating. Constantine Boym throws 100-guest vodka-fueled parties across from a room with a disco ball, under which sits Michelle DiBona, who sometimes sports a tie-dyed blouse. Gossip swirls about Ted Gottfried, whose nude seaside ukulele strumming is a source of fascination. No one seems to know who stole a sandwich from the common refrigerator a few months back, prompting a minor scandal.


G. Paul Burnett/The New York Times
Welcome to 131 Varick Street, which for better or worse might be New York’s most college-dorm-like office building.

Layout partly explains it. Dozens of small companies occupy 36 cheek-by-jowl offices, which earlier this decade were carved from a warren of storage cubbyholes like those that line the 11-story SoHo building’s lower floors.

The storage cubbies weren’t being rented to people who wanted to store stuff, so the owners thought, let people rent them and put themselves in there instead. Rents now average $55 a square foot; they were as low as $40.

The building’s businesses trend creative, whether their employees are stylists, leather-workers or graphic designers (though one makes fire alarms). Many workers have backgrounds and night gigs that can be called quirky, if not downright crazy.

Indeed, the artistic ethos of the place — where workers sport yellow sneakers and dreadlocks, and internal walls can be made of nylon sheets — seems heir to the legacy of the surrounding neighborhood, where loft living was practically invented.

But the communal open-door policy can sometimes be too much, according to Nina Poon, 33, a photographer’s assistant who was wearing a thin white scarf and safety-orange nail polish as she moved a mouse to Motley Crue’s “Home Sweet Home.”

“Any of the building gossip is about me,” said Ms. Poon, explaining that five years ago, she underwent a sex change, after which she became a fashion model who now appears on billboards and in magazines.


So, she enters the lunchroom tentatively for her daily cup of tea. “Guys are always like, ‘Hi, how are you?’ and then they wink,” Ms. Poon said. “It gets annoying.”

Others seem to thrive on the sociability — take Arthur Golden, who earned the nickname The Mayor for rallying employees for off-site pub crawls, bowling nights and movie outings. He now works as a real estate broker at a different address, but drops by 131 Varick once a week.

He also tinkered with broken phones in Room 902, where his official duties included making bags for snowboards and skates.

“Our office seemed to be one of the central points of the floor, with people walking in and out any time of day,” said Mr. Golden, adding that he, too, would circumnavigate the floor for input on certain fabric swatches.

Mr. Golden’s previous gigs included stints as a professional Rollerblader and dance club promoter. “I have friends in five offices,” he said.

There is other overlap. Last fall, Gene Kliot, Mr. Golden’s former boss, joined Aixa Sobin, who makes leatherbound journals, stacks of which tower from floor to ceiling in her cramped office, for Thanksgiving dinner.

Meanwhile, Mr. Jones, a software engineer, and Tim Meyers, an employee of a branding firm, bond over a love of Christian religious imagery. Wearing a Jesus T-shirt to work, as Mr. Jones tells it, led Mr. Meyers to share a collection of Virgin Mary figurines.

On the other hand, Mr. Gottfried hasn’t been so lucky getting co-workers to attend his naked ukulele concerts, which take place regularly on beaches on Fire Island, N.Y., and Sandy Hook, N.J., alongside three other unclad musicians. (He also stages 20 clothed shows a year in Manhattan.)

“But people know about it around the office, and they’re very open-minded,” said Mr. Gottfried, who was hunched over a calculator, punctuating the air with a yellow mechanical pencil. “And so is my boss,” he laughed.

THOUGH the offices at 131 Varick can be small and dim, their appeal for a start-up business is fairly obvious. Rents there can be lower than elsewhere per square foot, and the required down payment is three months’ rent; renters can also break their leases after nine months without penalty.
In contrast, a high-end Midtown office building can cost $80 a square foot and require a 10-year lease and a down payment of six months’ rent. Even smaller-scale executive suites, though shorter-term, can cost $150 a square foot, as they include use of conference rooms, telephones and receptionists.

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Donna Alberico for The New York Times
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Donna Alberico for The New York Times
The building is owned by Edison Properties of Newark. Jason Miller of Edison said he expected the building to maintain 100 percent occupancy for its 73 offices, spread among its three top floors, even if city office rents drop.

“There’s always going to be a need for a product like this for designers and technology companies,” Mr. Miller said. “And people can take other space here as they grow.”

If the last few years in the building have been like a raucous freshman party, there’s a sense that graduation is now looming.

A projected rent increase will likely force out Barry Rosenthal, a photographer who works with his wife, Elyn, in a space that provided Hudson River views until condos recently encroached.

In his office, a shelf of tarnished copper horses, found at flea markets, hangs on one wall; facing them is a row of framed illustrations of Native Americans in headdresses.

As the floor’s original tenant, Mr. Rosenthal said he would miss the place, especially Mr. Boym’s shindigs, which “always feature some kind of interesting vodka.” The post-parties at the Ear Inn, a nearby bar, were also highlights, said Mr. Rosenthal, who was wearing a gray-hooded “Poly Prep” sweatshirt, shorts and sandals. “But not everybody is as friendly as they used to be.”

Other tenants have outgrown their offices, including David Khouri, an architect who’s relocating his firm next month to a much larger West Chelsea space.

But he’s not sad to go, as the collegiate vibe of 131 Varick, which recalled a Columbia dorm, never really appealed to Mr. Khouri anyway.

“It always smelled like microwaved popcorn,” he said, “and nothing ever smells good coming out of a microwave.”

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