Walking down Bedford Street in Greenwich Village, you’ll probably miss it. Most people do. They’re busy looking for the Friends apartment or hunting for a $14 latte, completely oblivious to the fact that they just walked past a piece of real estate that defies every law of physics and logic. We’re talking about 75 1/2 Bedford Street, the skinniest house in New York City. It’s exactly what the name suggests—a half-house squeezed into a former carriage alleyway like an afterthought.
It’s tiny. Really tiny.
The front of the building is only 9 feet 6 inches wide. On the inside? It narrows down to about 8 feet 4 inches. If you’re the kind of person who likes to pace while they talk on the phone, you’re basically going to be doing a three-step shuffle until you hit a wall. Yet, despite being narrower than a subway car, this sliver of brick has hosted some of the most influential minds in American history. It’s a weird, cramped, beautiful anomaly in a city that usually tears down the small to make room for the massive.
The Weird History of a Three-Story Alleyway
You can’t understand 75 1/2 Bedford Street without looking at why it exists in the first place. It wasn't built to be a house. Not originally. Back in the day—we’re talking 1873—this space was literally just a delivery access point for the brewery that sat nearby. During a housing shortage, someone looked at that narrow gap and thought, "Yeah, I can put a chimney there and call it a home."
It’s built in the Flemish Bond brick style, which gives it that classic West Village charm, but the layout is pure chaos. It has three floors, plus a basement that actually feels less claustrophobic than the top floor because of how the light hits. For decades, it was just another quirky Village rental. But the 1920s changed everything.
The Village was the heartbeat of the bohemian movement. If you were a poet, a playwright, or a radical, you wanted to be here. Edna St. Vincent Millay, the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet, moved in during 1923. She lived there with her husband, Eugen Jan Boissevain. People joke that they moved there because they were broke, which is partly true, but it was also a statement. Living in the narrowest house in the city was the ultimate "starving artist" flex.
They renovated the place, adding a tiny kitchen and a top-floor studio. Millay reportedly wrote some of her most famous work while staring out the back window into the shared courtyard. Think about that for a second. One of the greatest voices of the Jazz Age was cramped into a room where she could probably touch both walls at once if she stretched. It’s proof that creative genius doesn't need a sprawling estate; it just needs a desk and a lack of distractions.
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What’s it Actually Like Inside?
Honestly, if you have any hint of claustrophobia, 75 1/2 Bedford Street is your nightmare. But if you love "ship-like" efficiency, it’s a masterpiece.
The staircase is the most aggressive part of the design. It’s a spiral that eats up a massive chunk of the floor plan. You aren't moving a king-sized mattress up those stairs. It’s just not happening. Every piece of furniture that has ever entered this house was either built inside the room or hoisted through the front windows with a pulley system. When the house sold most recently, the photos showed a surprisingly sleek, modern interior.
- The First Floor: You walk straight into the living area. There’s a fireplace—yes, a real one—and a kitchen that makes a New York studio look like a commercial galley.
- The Second Floor: Usually serves as a library or a guest space. It’s cozy, but the ceilings aren't exactly soaring.
- The Third Floor: The master bedroom. It leads out to a small balcony overlooking the garden.
The backyard is the secret weapon. Because 75 1/2 Bedford Street shares the "Palm Ground" courtyard with the surrounding houses (including the famous Twin Peaks house next door), it feels much bigger than it is. You get this communal green space that is incredibly rare in Lower Manhattan. It’s the only reason a human being could live here for more than a week without losing their mind.
The Celeb Factor and the Price Tag
Millay wasn't the only famous resident. The house has a roster that reads like a Who's Who of 20th-century culture. Anthropologist Margaret Mead lived here. So did cartoonist William Steig (the guy who created Shrek). Even Cary Grant supposedly stayed here for a bit, though Village legends are always a little blurry on the details of who slept where.
What’s wild is the value.
In the 1920s, it rented for pennies. In 2013, it sold for $3.25 million. Let that sink in. You are paying over $3,000 per square foot for a house where you can’t even host a dinner party for four people without someone sitting in the hallway. It’s the ultimate trophy property. You don't buy 75 1/2 Bedford Street because you need a place to live; you buy it because you want to own a piece of a map that hasn't changed in 150 years.
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There’s a persistent rumor that the house is "haunted" by the ghosts of the bohemians who lived there. People claim to hear footsteps on the narrow stairs. Personally? I think it’s just the house settling. Old brick and wood in a 150-year-old narrow frame are going to make noise. But in the West Village, a ghost story adds at least another $200k to the asking price.
Why the "Skinny House" Still Matters in 2026
New York is becoming a city of glass towers. Everywhere you look, there’s a new Hudson Yards-style development popping up. These buildings are soulless. They’re efficient, sure, but they don't have stories. 75 1/2 Bedford Street is the antithesis of that. It represents a time when the city was built into the cracks of the existing world.
It’s a reminder that space is subjective.
We think we need 2,000 square feet to be happy. Then you see a house like this and realize that some of the most important art in American history was created in a space smaller than a modern walk-in closet. It challenges the "more is more" philosophy of modern real estate.
It also serves as a landmark for the preservation movement. The Greenwich Village Society for Historic Preservation (GVSHP) keeps a close eye on these properties. You can't just come in and "modernize" the facade. The red brick, the tiny windows, the off-center door—it’s all protected. It’s a permanent thumb in the eye of developers who want to maximize every square inch of the city for profit.
How to See It for Yourself
If you want to visit, don't expect a tour. It’s a private residence. People actually live there (imagine the delivery guys trying to find the doorbell). However, you can easily view it from the sidewalk.
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- Location: It’s located between Commerce Street and Morton Street.
- The Neighbors: While you’re there, look at 77 Bedford (the "Twin Peaks" house). It’s an architectural oddity in its own right, built to look like a Swiss chalet because a 1920s developer had a very specific, very weird vision.
- Timing: Go in the morning. The light hits the brick in a way that makes the "75 1/2" address plaque pop for photos.
- Respect: Remember it's someone's home. Don't linger on the stoop. The owners are used to tourists, but nobody likes a face pressed against their window while they’re eating cereal.
Moving Beyond the Novelty
If you're fascinated by the history of 75 1/2 Bedford Street, there are a few ways to dive deeper into the lifestyle it represents.
First, read "The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver" by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Knowing she wrote in that specific environment changes how you hear the rhythm of her words. You can feel the tightness, the focus, and the intimacy of the space.
Second, if you’re a property nerd, look into the "Tax Houses" of New York. Sometimes, these narrow buildings were constructed to fill gaps left by weird surveying errors or to avoid specific property taxes based on street frontage width.
Lastly, take a walk through the rest of the West Village. Areas like Patchin Place or Weehawken Street have similar "frozen in time" vibes. The skinny house isn't just a fluke; it's the most extreme example of a neighborhood that refused to grow up.
The next time you're feeling cramped in your apartment, just remember: you probably have more room than a Pulitzer Prize winner had. And you probably didn't pay $3 million for the privilege.
To truly appreciate the architecture of the West Village, start at the corner of Bedford and Grove. Walk south toward 75 1/2, noting how the ages of the buildings shift from the early 1800s to the late 19th century. Pay attention to the "joinery" where the skinny house meets its neighbors; you can literally see where the alleyway ended and the house began. This is the best way to understand the physical evolution of New York City without opening a textbook.