Observer – “I realized I hadn’t been up to my library in six months. My wife pointed out that neither of us had been to the parlor in the last three,” art dealer Otto Naumann recently confessed to The Observer. “We were basically living on two floors.” The Naumanns’ townhouse on East 78th Street had five, in addition to an elevator meant to relieve the headache of traveling between them. Perversely, the couple quickly discovered that the elevator made it easier not to get around the house. They were bypassing entire floors without so much as a glimpse from the stair landing for weeks, even months. Prized possessions, like a beloved boat sculpture, were stranded in neglected corners. After two years of rattling around the brownstone behemoth, they admitted defeat and retreated to a 2,500-square-foot cond-op. They weren’t the first, or only, townhouse dwellers to find the vastness and verticality of their home daunting. While such residents would seem to be living the dream—the exceedingly common one in which the dreamer discovers extra, hidden, previously unexplored rooms in his or her own house—it can sometimes feel more like a nightmare. he reality is that we live in the kitchen and the library. We have a living room and two guest bedrooms that we never use,” he said. “I can’t think of anyone besides empty nesters who has left a townhouse because there was too much space, but it’s certainly not uncommon to hear people say things like, ‘I haven’t been up there in a couple of years.’” “It’s like being too rich or too thin,” remarked Jed Garfield, a broker at the boutique townhouse firm Leslie J. Garfield & Co. Inc.

Poor Otto! Dude can’t manage his fucking five story townhouse! Bougie son of a bitch. The number 1 sign that you’re a bougie prick is if you have rooms in your house that sound like the board game Clue. If you’ve got lounges and libraries and ballrooms you’re rich as fuck.

As obnoxious as these assholes sound though, I can’t fault them. I wouldn’t wanna live in a 5 floor house either. You know that feeling when you run upstairs and realize you left your phone downstairs and the thought of going all the way back down and up again seems absolutely back breaking? Well imagine if you’re on the bottom floor and you realize you left your phone on the fucking 5th story Study? I’d go out and buy a new phone before I hopped on an elevator to grab that shit.

At the end of the day though, complaining that you had to downgrade to a 2,500 sq foot condo is about as douchey as it gets. Like motherfucker I live in what I’m pretty sure is a converted walk-in closet. Let me live in the conservatory or the library annex or whatever the fuck you call it and I will dust all your statues and sculptures and keep the 5th floor clean.