Being At WeWork: The Realities Of Co-Working

I’ve been asked by fellow entrepreneurs whether we like being at our WeWork co-working space—and if it is helping us to scale. Both are great questions.

Our small copywriting agency (four on-site, 12 off-site) has been at a three-year-old WeWork co-working office for 18 months. It’s our second time around: the first was at WeWork’s first location in Nolita, when friend Lisa Skye (who has moved on to launch this spectacular new co-working space) managed it, and WeWork founders Adam and Miguel could still be seen prowling the halls. At the time, my closest neighbor was a sales rep whose incessant phone calls—and booming voice—pointed directly at the thin glass separating our offices. Adding construction noise, the arrangement lasted two months, after which we retreated to Brooklyn and swore never to return.

But then I visited Emily Costa at WeWork Park South. The inviting lobby took my breath away, and I squealed (really the only way to describe it) at the sight of a spiral staircase, pillowed nooks for informal chats and whimsically wallpapered conference rooms. Things had come a long way since location one; this smacked more of cute boutique hotel than ascetic industrialism. The location—28^th Street and Park Avenue South—was in the thick of my daily life. I marveled that I’d be re-united with my team, whom I (then) rarely saw. That day, I secured an office; several months later, we took a second across the hall.

Fast forward 18 months. I still love the layout. But I am avidly hoping to outgrow the space—and actively looking for a replacement.

What We Like About WeWork

First the good news. We love the energy: in contrast with our previous warehouse-like office, this offers constant movement, fresh faces and lively conversation. There’s also an unmistakable entrepreneurial vibe, highlighted by the “Embrace the Hustle” neon sign above the spiral staircase.

The phone booths—if you can find an empty one during peak hours—are thoughtfully kitted out; all sport surfaces for laptops, outlet cords and landlines. There’s even a locking privacy booth for breastfeeding moms.

We think the space makes a great impression on clients. Aside from the décor, things are immaculately maintained, with spotless bathrooms and daily trash/box hauling. The coffee is by La Colombe and includes a rad espresso machine. Our particular location is generous with hosted and sponsored parties (read: free food) and perks. This sometimes-raucous atmosphere is a bit of a double-edge sword—read on.

My staff loves the giveaways, and has gotten free eye exams, flu shots and more cherry juice concentrate than we can drink

On the business front, we've picked up two important clients. Both are favorites—and real characters. One, a French marathon runner with a fun, fresh energy—hired us briefly when he worked there, then remembered us when he landed elsewhere. The other is a social media maven with a small staff of millennials. We blog for the maven and are writing product manuals for the runner. The work hasn’t helped us to scale so far, but it is helping with rent.

If we worked it (“WeWorked” it?), we’d get more. Daily—nearly hourly—WeWorkers around the globe post their needs on the company’s active social online social network. Many of these WeWorkers—now in 93 locations across 28 cities—need content creators. I’d respond, but I always get too busy (d’oh!). In addition, we offer a DIY ghost-blogging course, customized for clients. I could easily give one or several at WeWork's 30 New York offices. Why I haven’t is not about WeWork, but the entrepreneurial condition. It's on my to-do list.

What’s Not To Love?

On the downside are the usual tenant annoyances. The most common—and biggest—is that the walls are, as you’ve probably heard, thin. Ours include a single dry wall and seven sides of glass.

Privacy is non-existent, unless you install a curtain, as this life coach did. Speakerphone and conference calls yield a fair amount of, “say that again?” and “I’m hearing an echo.” Because we opted for two offices next to the main lounge, the location’s frequent breakfasts, trivia hours and networking parties send us fleeing. Most egregious is Thursday's 5 p.m. happy hour, complete with thundering hip-hop DJ, partying fellow tenants, a cocktail bar and tap beer. Whenever this happens, my writers seek refuge. I refuse to budge, telling myself that stoicism builds resilience. But maybe it just cultivates resentment, plus headaches.

The conference rooms are nifty and plentiful. But there’s no buffer time between conference room bookings, which results in a few awkward situations: you pretty much need to pause mid-sentence, get up and clear out your stuff, since the next group is already lurking.

While the bathrooms are spotless, they’re also strangely filled with thumping nightclub music playing in an endless loop.

If WeWork does make sense for you, I’d advise paying a little extra for an office with a wall, a view of the outdoors or both. The wall gives you a way to make it yours (and provides a little insulation from sound intrusion); the view mitigates the hamster-like feel. Position yourself away from the action.

On balance, my biggest complaint amounts to agonizing over value and pride of possession. We’re paying about $600 per desk: not a bad deal for co-working, but terrible given the square footage. And like all things in a sharing economy, we don't 'own' it. As client Elaine (a guru of luxury sharing) reminded me the other day, our generation doesn’t need to own homes, cars, planes or even watches. We certainly don’t need to take ‘ownership’ of our office space. But I want to. I have a vision of a sunny, transparent aerie perched high atop Union Square Park, housing hundreds of copywriters and content strategists.

We’re very far from this now, and there’s nothing like walking through the doors at WeWork, surrounded by fellow hustlers, to remind me of the ambition and hard work it’ll take to outgrow this community.