Don't live here: Austin's lamest apartments
Villas On Guadalupe
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Austin used to pride itself on its collection of ramshackle mid-century homes and funky apartment complexes, affordable housing that made living in the heart of the city an option for even the most loosely employed. Unfortunately for incoming residents, the rite of passage of the cheap West Campus apartment is slowly becoming a thing of the past, replaced by “luxury living concepts” that purport to offer a uniquely Austin experience via artificial means and at an exorbitant price. (Which, come to think of it, might be the modern “Austin experience” after all.) Here, Decider takes a look at some of the most egregious offenders.
The Metropolis
What it is: The Metropolis bills itself as "fearlessly current" and a place where one can "live artfully"—in a cheap, mammoth housing community in the student ghetto of East Riverside.
Who lives there: People who got picked on a lot in high school; wannabe artists too afraid to risk rooming with weirdos at a co-op; Fritz Lang enthusiasts.
The pitch: Every unit has track lighting and stained concrete floors—just like the artists' warehouses you always see in movies! So what if all your neighbors are too busy chatting up girls and flogging the same shitty paintings they did six years ago to actually create anything? This place is just like Warhol’s Factory, man!
The reality: Sure, it's not one of those tacky, UT-branded student complexes, but this is basically the same thing in pretentious drag. People who live here probably aren't creative enough to make their own living space interesting, so they pay for pre-packaged, faux-bohemian airs. Despite what they're selling you, the Left Bank this is not.
What it is: The Metropolis bills itself as "fearlessly current" and a place where one can "live artfully"—in a cheap, mammoth housing community in the student ghetto of East Riverside.
Who lives there: People who got picked on a lot in high school; wannabe artists too afraid to risk rooming with weirdos at a co-op; Fritz Lang enthusiasts.
The pitch: Every unit has track lighting and stained concrete floors—just like the artists' warehouses you always see in movies! So what if all your neighbors are too busy chatting up girls and flogging the same shitty paintings they did six years ago to actually create anything? This place is just like Warhol’s Factory, man!
The reality: Sure, it's not one of those tacky, UT-branded student complexes, but this is basically the same thing in pretentious drag. People who live here probably aren't creative enough to make their own living space interesting, so they pay for pre-packaged, faux-bohemian airs. Despite what they're selling you, the Left Bank this is not.
Villas On Guadalupe
What it is: One of the pioneers of those new campus-area "luxury" complexes that have sprung up since zoning ordinances allowed for taller construction. As a bonus, it's right on top of a Blockbuster Video, because nothing says "luxury" like being able to pop downstairs and pick up Nights In Rodanthe without putting on clean pants.
Who lives there: Seriously rich kids who were able to talk their parents into paying 1,000 bucks a month for a single room in an apartment shared with a couple of other douchebags.
The pitch: Live right on the Drag, deep in the heart of all the things that make Austin so unique!
The reality: This section of the Drag is dominated by fast-food chains and gas stations, and you're sitting on top of a mascot for corporate monopoly. You may as well have stayed in the 'burbs.
What it is: One of the pioneers of those new campus-area "luxury" complexes that have sprung up since zoning ordinances allowed for taller construction. As a bonus, it's right on top of a Blockbuster Video, because nothing says "luxury" like being able to pop downstairs and pick up Nights In Rodanthe without putting on clean pants.
Who lives there: Seriously rich kids who were able to talk their parents into paying 1,000 bucks a month for a single room in an apartment shared with a couple of other douchebags.
The pitch: Live right on the Drag, deep in the heart of all the things that make Austin so unique!
The reality: This section of the Drag is dominated by fast-food chains and gas stations, and you're sitting on top of a mascot for corporate monopoly. You may as well have stayed in the 'burbs.
The Domain
What it is: A sprawling, dystopian nightmare of a housing compound in the faraway wilds of North Austin. More than a mere apartment complex, The Domain’s 300-acre planned community incorporates dozens of the most expensive luxury stores and restaurants in town, 10 acres of parks, office space for up to 17,000, two hotels, and zero fucking soul.
Who lives there: Agoraphobics who thrill at the prospect of being able to live their entire lives without having to venture anywhere else for all their worldly needs; people who love the idea of being able to walk to McCormick And Schmick's for dinner, but are too scared of homeless people to live downtown.
The pitch: Its marketing material claims that "many are calling The Domain Austin's second downtown"—though it's a safe bet that those "many" are people who write marketing material.
The reality: If The Domain is Austin's second downtown, then the Future World Pavilion at EPCOT Center is a time machine. Here's a clue: If a neighborhood's most recognizable landmarks are Macy's, Brookstone, and Victoria's Secret, it's not a neighborhood. It's a mall. Why not save yourself several thousand a month and pitch a tent in front of Sbarro?
What it is: A sprawling, dystopian nightmare of a housing compound in the faraway wilds of North Austin. More than a mere apartment complex, The Domain’s 300-acre planned community incorporates dozens of the most expensive luxury stores and restaurants in town, 10 acres of parks, office space for up to 17,000, two hotels, and zero fucking soul.
Who lives there: Agoraphobics who thrill at the prospect of being able to live their entire lives without having to venture anywhere else for all their worldly needs; people who love the idea of being able to walk to McCormick And Schmick's for dinner, but are too scared of homeless people to live downtown.
The pitch: Its marketing material claims that "many are calling The Domain Austin's second downtown"—though it's a safe bet that those "many" are people who write marketing material.
The reality: If The Domain is Austin's second downtown, then the Future World Pavilion at EPCOT Center is a time machine. Here's a clue: If a neighborhood's most recognizable landmarks are Macy's, Brookstone, and Victoria's Secret, it's not a neighborhood. It's a mall. Why not save yourself several thousand a month and pitch a tent in front of Sbarro?
The Triangle
What it is: A curious mixed-use complex on the "triangle" of land where Guadalupe and North Lamar intersect. Unlike The Domain, The Triangle gives you the option of living above low-retail outlets like OfficeMax and the T-Mobile store that will probably change hands at least once a year.
Who lives there: Like the Villas, The Triangle is largely student-dominated, but it attracts a slightly older spoiled brat, one that’s probably totally stoked there's a Flying Saucer on the premises.
The pitch: Its "Live. Work. Play." ad campaign plays off the fact that triangles have three sides—just like your life! Get it? Then again, that’s ignoring the other sides of your life if you live here, which are “Constant traffic” and “Never-ending patio noise.” But then, nobody wants to live in a place called “The Rhombus.”
The reality: There's no particularly compelling reason to want to live, work, and play in the exact same space—especially if your "work" options are limited to this handful of retailers and restaurants. You know where else you can live, work, and play all within the same narrow confines? Prison.
What it is: A curious mixed-use complex on the "triangle" of land where Guadalupe and North Lamar intersect. Unlike The Domain, The Triangle gives you the option of living above low-retail outlets like OfficeMax and the T-Mobile store that will probably change hands at least once a year.
Who lives there: Like the Villas, The Triangle is largely student-dominated, but it attracts a slightly older spoiled brat, one that’s probably totally stoked there's a Flying Saucer on the premises.
The pitch: Its "Live. Work. Play." ad campaign plays off the fact that triangles have three sides—just like your life! Get it? Then again, that’s ignoring the other sides of your life if you live here, which are “Constant traffic” and “Never-ending patio noise.” But then, nobody wants to live in a place called “The Rhombus.”
The reality: There's no particularly compelling reason to want to live, work, and play in the exact same space—especially if your "work" options are limited to this handful of retailers and restaurants. You know where else you can live, work, and play all within the same narrow confines? Prison.
Red River Flats
What it is: A four-story luxury building directly across the Mohawk and Club De Ville, Red River Flats is the first of many proposed “downtown living” luxury spaces that Mayor Will Wynn thinks will make Austin a “world-class city,” and that make everybody who already lives in the city absolutely furious.
Who lives there: People who are really into live music, so long as it ends before midnight and it isn’t so loud.
The pitch: “It's nestled in the heart of the music district of the Live Music Capitol Of The World!" And what could be better than cracking a few Shiners out on the balcony and catching the show at Stubb's from the comfort of your own home?
The reality: The new restrictions placed on neighboring venues—like buying the Mohawk a cement wall for its outdoor stage to dampen the sound—stifle the very thing Red River Flats is supposedly celebrating. Whenever people bitch about “those fucking condo people ruining everything,” they’re talking about you.
What it is: A four-story luxury building directly across the Mohawk and Club De Ville, Red River Flats is the first of many proposed “downtown living” luxury spaces that Mayor Will Wynn thinks will make Austin a “world-class city,” and that make everybody who already lives in the city absolutely furious.
Who lives there: People who are really into live music, so long as it ends before midnight and it isn’t so loud.
The pitch: “It's nestled in the heart of the music district of the Live Music Capitol Of The World!" And what could be better than cracking a few Shiners out on the balcony and catching the show at Stubb's from the comfort of your own home?
The reality: The new restrictions placed on neighboring venues—like buying the Mohawk a cement wall for its outdoor stage to dampen the sound—stifle the very thing Red River Flats is supposedly celebrating. Whenever people bitch about “those fucking condo people ruining everything,” they’re talking about you.
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