Dear Future Roommate

The Challenge:

Write a letter to your hypothetical future roommate in your 20s. Be brutally honest—warn them about your worst habits, reveal your quirks, and let them know exactly what they’re signing up for. Or, if you prefer, pitch yourself as the ideal roommate, exaggerating your best qualities. Will they be living with a disaster? A dream? A total enigma? It’s up to you.

Tips and Suggestions:

Voice is everything. Whether you’re sarcastic, dramatic, poetic, or unnervingly formal, make the voice match your imagined persona.

Be specific. Don’t just say you “like to stay up late”—describe the all-night conspiracy theory rabbit holes and the 2 AM pancake-making sessions.

Embrace the exaggeration. Maybe your morning routine actually resembles a sacred ritual. Maybe your laundry pile has become a sentient being. Go for it.

Have fun. This isn’t a college application letter—it’s a chance to be weird, wild, and absurdly self-aware.

Requirement Checklist:

Model Works

“A Letter to Remind Myself Who I Am” by Shane Koyczan (for tone and self-reflection) (Link)

Excerpts from David Sedaris’s Me Talk Pretty One Day (for humor and exaggerated self-awareness)

"This is Just to Say" by William Carlos Williams (for the art of passive-aggression in a note) (Link)

Sample

Dear Future Roommate,

First off, congratulations! You’ve made the deeply questionable decision to share living space with me, and for that, I commend your bravery. Since we’ll be cohabitating, I think full transparency is key.

Let’s get the basics out of the way. I am mostly nocturnal, but only in the sense that I tend to do my best thinking at 2 AM and may, on occasion, forget that other people require sleep. If you wake up to find me sitting in the dark, eating dry cereal and staring into the abyss, do not be alarmed. This is normal. If you hear me laughing alone in my room at an ungodly hour, know that it is definitely because of a funny TikTok and not because I’m plotting anything sinister. (I promise.)

Cleanliness? Let’s call it “selective.” I have a strict everything-must-be-clean-except-for-my-personal-space policy. The kitchen? Spotless. The bathroom? Pristine. My bedroom? A lawless wasteland of books, clothes, and what I can only describe as “important but undiscoverable items.” However, if my mess creeps beyond my domain, you have full permission to shame me. Passive-aggressive Post-it notes encouraged.

I am an enthusiastic but unpredictable cook. One night, I might craft a gourmet meal worthy of a food blog; the next, I might decide that eating peanut butter straight from the jar constitutes dinner. I also tend to narrate my cooking process out loud like I’m hosting a cooking show. You will get used to it.

Socially, I hover somewhere between “I need deep, philosophical conversations at all hours” and “please pretend I don’t exist.” I will either enthusiastically invite you to watch an obscure documentary with me or silently lurk in my room for three days straight. There is no in-between. If you need alone time, just place a single object (a banana, a shoe, a spoon—dealer’s choice) outside my door, and I will take it as a sign to leave you be.

In conclusion, I am not the worst roommate you could have, but I am also not the best. If you can tolerate my late-night existential crises, my chaotic organizational skills, and my tendency to aggressively defend my side of the couch, I think we’ll get along just fine.

Welcome to this strange, wonderful, semi-functional partnership. May our WiFi be strong, our shared fridge items respected, and our passive-aggressive tensions minimal.

Sincerely,

Your Future Roommate

P.S. If you hear mysterious rustling at 3 AM, it’s probably just me getting a snack. Probably.