As a freelancer for more than a decade, I was intrigued by this proposition, and in April decided to give WeWork a try. After perusing the options, which start at $45 a month for pay-as-you-go access and run into the thousands for a small office, I sign up for a $350 “unlimited commons” membership. This allows me to use WeWork locations around the world, so long as I can find a seat at the bar. I download the company’s iPhone app and book a spot at a WeWork location on Varick Street in Manhattan. By the next day, I’m tapping away on my laptop in the facility’s second-floor common area. In this WeWork, as in others I later visited, tiny, glassed-in offices line the perimeter. Many have techy names on the doors—Blipit, Znaptag—but there are also lawyers, nonprofits, movie producers, political consultants, and a beef jerky brand. One office is filled with beautiful leather shoes. My work area is lit like a gastropub, with dark wood and leather armchairs, a bar with trompe l’oeil liquor-bottle wallpaper, and microbrews on tap. One afternoon, after a tax-week call with my accountant, I emerge from a phone booth, hidden behind lascivious-looking red velvet curtains, to find a happy hour sponsored by a tequila brand. Soon I’m chatting over grapefruit margaritas with a video game designer who has just joined WeWork, too.