Well, for one, apartments don't have to be cramped.
But I think there is a political and ecologic aspect to where we choose to live that trumps the ideal of individual choice.
First apartments are much more energy efficient than houses. There was a marvellous article in the New Yorker about a year ago called "Green Manhattan," which explained in great detail the surprising finding that NYC, particularly Manhattan, is one of the most energy-efficient cities in the world. Apartment buildings are more efficient to heat, cool, provide plumbing for, etc. than single dwelling homes. Densely populated cities are also much more efficient to provide transportation for. I did the math and figured that it costs me at least four times as much to get around in Oakland, CA, than it would in NYC. And I really don't drive that much; I work at home, etc. And, the fact is, human survival depends on using resources efficiently.
Politically, ownership of a house is an unending invitation to narcissism. Everything about your domestic environment is something that you can choose and cultivate. You can burn up an entire life in service to a house. I guess that's one of the attractions. At any rate, I notice that half the magazine industry is devoted to suggesting yet more ways to elaborate your "home." Color schemes, fabrics, stencilling, granite countertops, gardens, trellises, reflecting ponds, decks, basements, attics, romper rooms, recreation areas. And everybody has to have their very own of everything. And of course, this all costs money. So much money that you can't afford to work a job that pays less but offers more enjoyable work; so much money that you can't afford to tell your boss to go to hell; so much money that you can't afford to take any kind of a risk.
An entire life spent in the service of comfort and security proposed as the highest ideals. An entire life building your own coffin. That is a "dream" worthy of a zoo animal, not a human being. Well, hold it. I'm being unfair. Zoo animals still dream of being free.
We men dream of home ownership. We used to dream of justice, of finding work that we loved, of achieving great and wonderous things, of exploration, of invention, of love. But now we are content to decorate a cage. This is not a dream; it's a sentence. And it is not a betrayal of the working class to call it so.
One could fritter one's life away in an apartment as well; but it really doesn't invite us to do so. An apartment is a temporary thing. Here today; gone tomorrow. Like our ephemeral selves. An apartment is just a resting place; you go home, you rest, so that you can do something the next day -- something that has nothing to do with the apartment. An apartment doesn't really invite identifications. Hundreds of people have passed through; hundreds more will follow. You will not leave it to your kids; you think of other things you might leave your kids: a story, a picture, a better world. An apartment invites fellowship. You watch out for your neighbors. You have a Xmas party. You collect someone's mail while they're out of town. You water their plants. You dream.
Joanna