Gentrification: A love story

Gentrification: A love story


Julian, my editor pushed up my deadline. I need material!

(JULIAN, breathless, enters stage right)


Julian! Are you listening to me? The kids are going stir-crazy in their vaulted playroom. And worse yet, they've totally lost interest in their weekend excursions to our water-access private cottage.


Funny you should ask, sweetpea. I just booted up my GPS-enabled real estate app, and found the next one.


Oooooh. Whaddya got? Rat-infested fixer-upper with orphans inside? That would be amazing come tax sea—




Corner lot with secret asbestos?

Pesky anarchist tenants?

An inner-city camp site for underprivileged children that's fallen into disrepair since the government pulled their funding ... after caving to pressure from yuppy residents who demand a gluten-free carbon-fiber play structure with a compassion corner instead?

(CATHERINE visibly clenches her entire body)

Aggghhhhh I think I just came.


Even better, my love.

Twin ski chalet shacks in the middle of a national park.

Snowmobile-access-only in the winter, and white stallion access in the summer.

But there's a catch. The owner’s estranged daughter planned to use it for a community art retreat. The estate gives her rightful ownership along with a plan for — pff, I dunno — rebuilding the community or something.


Juilan, how is this good news? Why do bad things always happen to us?

We can't afford a snowmobile or a legal battle. We have Montessori tuition and heated floors to pay for.

And we're only making $5,000 a month on the Airbnb condo.

And the boutique distillery on our Mexican property only just got bought out by Tromba Tequila, so we won't see that pay-out until at least a week from now.

I can't handle this stress. It's so unfair.


Honey, I'm not finished. She didn't get it notarized — the document her father dictated on his deathbed. It won't hold up in court.

And you remember my rich aunt, the high-powered estate lawyer? She feels so horrible about all this that she's agreed to take our case. Pro-bono.

The estranged daughter is outta there! Take that, community art activists! Helloooooo private ski chalet.


Oh, Julian. I love it when you talk eviction to me.

CATHERINE and JULIAN make love on their Parkdale treetop, a structure Julian recruited a street-involved youth named Timmy to build for Catherine's birthday—despite its violating occupational health and safety bylaws.

The treetop subsequently led to Timmy’s contracting tetanus from a rusty nail.

Fortunately, Julian and Catherine had the presence of mind to sue him in small claims court for getting sick on their property. They won, too, to the tune of $2,000.

They’d been gunning for $5,000, but nothing came easily to them. Catherine only got one paid blog post from a prefab treehouse company for penning that tale.


And never was there a tale of more woe / than that of fair Julian, and his property-loving beau.


Lauren McNicol is a recovering academic who has published work on mainstream depictions of feminist activism and the bullshit MRA movement. After escaping the ivory tower, she's paid the bills working as a research coordinator, live-in nanny, grant writer, jewelry store clerk, and census enumerator. These days, she's finding her passion as a visual merchandiser, cocktail ambassador and occasional recipe tester. She lives happily with her partner and plants in a one bedroom rental.

Follow her on Instagram and bug her to finally start her blog so she can stop relying on Facebook status rants.