What should you do when a historic hotel (once the largest hotel in all of New York City) goes up in flames?

A) Restore it to its former glory.

B) Knock it down and build something new.

C) Patch it up and throw a bunch of students in it. 🤷

🍻 THE DRUNK BUSINESS ADVICE 

👉 Comfort rarely breeds growth. Being uncomfortable is proof you’re chasing something big.

👉 There’s a special kind of strength that comes from doing it the hard way. The ones who had it easy rarely get the reps.

And now — the story behind why this advice matters. 👇️ 

But first…

Turning problems into wine 🍷

This week’s reader question 👇️ 

“Long-time listener, first-time caller, haha. I run a small real estate business, and even with project management software, I feel like our team still operates across a million spreadsheets and can never find anything. What would you do in my shoes?”

–Stephan, Boston

What Jesus has to say 👇️ 

This is exactly the kind of mess low-code tools are built to clean up.

We recently built a custom app for BuildGenius — a construction management company that was stuck in the same spreadsheet spiral. 

We built that app in 4 weeks, saving them ~$50k in wasted admin time, and enabling them to manage 70% more projects simultaneously. Now their whole team runs on one centralized app — no more chasing files, switching tabs, or second-guessing who’s doing what.

(Oh, and we’re building version 2.0 with AI all over the app to make them EVEN MORE efficient.)

So if I were you, I’d look into building a low-code app. It’s the cheapest and fastest (scalable) solution for sure. 

PLUS, it can be designed so it doesn’t “disrupt” your team’s habits. Instead, it will incorporate them.

If you want to talk through how this might work for your business, I’m game. Let’s connect.

-Jesus

Have a tech question? Get an answer from Jesus + get featured in an upcoming issue!

Jesus Vargas is the owner of LowCode Agency, a badass software development agency that builds custom apps twice as fast, and for half the cost, of traditional software developers. Each week, Jesus answers your tech questions. His sponsorship of Drunk Business Advice keeps this content free. 🙏 

Home Sweet… Hotel St. George

The awning was still adorned with gold letters, spelling out “Hotel St. George” — but the scene within couldn’t be further from the hotel’s glory days, where The Godfather was shot in its lobby bar, and Leonard Bernstein recorded Rhapsody in Blue with the New York Philharmonic in its ballroom.

That prestige was long gone.

Now it was just a deeply antiquated student residence hall, packed with sweaty teenagers.

I didn’t know any of the site’s rich history when my yellow cab pulled up to the St. George in the blistering summer of 2005 — 20 years ago. 🤯

I was a month shy of my 18th birthday, and hadn’t thought to research anything beyond the subway I needed to take to get into Manhattan.

My mom was an emotional basketcase as she helped unload my bags, and insisted on buying my first 6-pack of toilet paper at the Gristedes across the street. She was hopelessly worried, but she knew she couldn’t stop me. I was determined to move to New York — with or without her blessing.

The first thing I noticed inside the St. George was the pungent aromatic cocktail of:

• Weed. ☮️ 

• Teenage hormones. ❤️‍🔥 

• The bitter, acrid, smoky stench of hundreds of kids burning the shit out of their microwave dinners. 🍽️ 

I’m completely honest when I say that I can’t even remember the layout of the lobby. (Were the elevators to the right? Or the left? I have no idea.) But I think about the smell of that place every damn day.

I soon met my new roommate, a sweet blonde from Nebraska who, like me, was living away from home for the first time. I just looked her up on Facebook, and it appears she’s still in NYC! Maybe I’ll ask her out for a drink…

Because celebrating the 20th anniversary of moving to New York is sort of a big deal, and we should probably do it together. ♥️

I got punched in the face

As a little kid growing up on the sunny beaches of Florida, I had unbreakable assumptions about what my future would be. As far back as I can remember, I never thought in terms of “If I move to New York”—

It was always “When I move to New York”.

It was a total given. Completely unquestionable. As normal as “When I get married” or “When I retire” or “When I beat Oregon Trail without dying of dysentery”.

I had always loved New York unconditionally, committing myself to her before I even knew her, like an arranged marriage. So I was shocked when I arrived at the altar, lifted her veil…

And got punched in the face.

It turned out, New York didn’t blindly love me back. She was gonna make me work for it.

And thus, I entered my 20-year love/hate (but never boring) relationship with the Big Apple. 🍎 

Oh shit. I’m broke.

I’m the daughter of entrepreneurs. While my parents did a great job of giving me a stable childhood, even when business was precarious, nothing could prepare our family for:

⛈️ Four consecutive hurricanes that would obliterate our income, and nearly destroy our business.

💸 The insurance companies who would (unlawfully) refuse to pay our claims against the policies we took out for this precise scenario.

⚖️ The court battle that would drag on for years.

This all kicked off in my junior year of high school. F*ck. 

But I was determined not to allow my family’s temporary financial setback squander my launch into adulthood. 

Through a combination of hard work, a supportive community, and probably some divine intervention, I received the only scholarship my tiny private school offered. And between my personal savings and some generous contributions from a few selfless family friends (❤️) , I scraped together just enough cash to sustain me until I could settle in and find a job.

I was elated as I packed my bags, and took off to the city.

But reality hit hard and quick.

Everyone else I was going to school with was paying full price, plus the exorbitant living expenses. This meant I was surrounded by a combination of rich kids and sort-of-rich kids.

The divide was clear.

👉 The rich kids went to Cosi and Starbucks for lunch every day for their $15 salads and $6 lattes.

👉 The sort-of-rich kids hit up the deli.

👉 And me? I packed a PB&J and a ziploc bag of baby carrots (which I rinsed and reused every day). Occasionally I would splurge on the $5 “two slices and a Snapple” special at the Roma Pizza on 19th Street, but that was rare.

A concerned teacher referred me to an anorexia counselor. 

Another bought me a train ticket when she overheard me declining an invitation from my classmates to join them for a day out of the city.

And while my friends were out partying every week, I rarely joined them, and barely touched alcohol. Not because I was a straight arrow, but because:

1. I couldn’t afford it.

2. I had no free time, and certainly no time for a hangover. I was either at work or at school. That’s it.

Most of my classmates were very kind, and fully aware of how fortunate they were to be living in New York with all of their expenses covered. I had no problem with those kids.

Others were utterly clueless, like this one blue-blooded blonde bitch from Boston who terrorized me because I couldn’t drop my shift to focus on some last-minute changes for a group project.

“Kristin,” she chastised, “if you really want to be here, you’ll prioritize this.”

I snapped back, “If your daddy wants to pay my rent this semester, then I’d be happy to quit my job. But for now, I’m working harder to be here than anything you’ve ever worked for in your entire life.” 😡

Every day was draining.

Comfort is the enemy

I dropped out of college after only one year because I simply couldn’t manage my demanding program, while also working full-time to pay my living expenses.

New York had flicked me away, like a slightly annoying, insignificant gnat.

I felt crushed. I had completely failed, and let down everyone who supported me.

And I also felt a red-hot anger toward my friends, who skipped along without a care in the world, as mine was crashing down. It wasn’t fair.

But 20 years of distance has made me realize that I didn’t fail — I was just comparing myself to people who were running a totally different race.

They had head starts. I had a backpack full of bricks — and I’ve never been more grateful for it. Because while they were comfortably cruising, my world was a high-stakes game of survival that prepared me for the fullest life I could have ever imagined.

I can sincerely say that I earned my place in New York.

New York isn’t just the place where I live — it’s the place I helped build. It’s the place that helped build me.

When I moved here…

• I couldn’t afford Broadway shows. Now, I own equity in a pretty iconic one.

• I had zero free time. Now, I control my own schedule, and have the freedom to enjoy the best that New York has to offer.

• I knew nothing about commercial real estate development. Now, some of the most important landmarks in the city have my fingerprints on them 👇

I’m glad New York played hard-to-get. Frankly, she still is. Every day is a struggle. And I’m really tired.

But when I think back to that stinky St. George dorm room, I’m overwhelmed by how far I’ve come, and how much this city has shaped me.

Anyone can fall in love with New York. Staying in love with her? That’s the real flex. 👊

Cheers! 🍻

-Kristin :-)

P.S. — Last week, I announced the launch of my new behind-the-scenes newsletter,  Drunk Writing Advice. The first issue drops on Tuesday, so if you haven’t signed up yet, get on that shit!

And don’t forget, Drunk Business Advice is FREE because of Jesus Vargas, and his team at LowCode Agency — so show ‘em some love!

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