There's every economic reason to rent in a working-class neighborhood. Or what used to be known as "Archie Bunker territory" and, before that, the "other side of the tracks."
Since late 2005, my rentals have all been among blue-collar folks, along with white collars like myself trying to save a buck and escape extreme careerism.
Right now, I am ponying up for rent in a working class part of Tucson, Arizona about a fourth of what I had in white-collar neighborhood of North Haven, Connecticut in 2004 and the first few quarters of 2005. On East Roger Road where I live, no one gives a damn about all my personal and professional "bad choices." As long as I pay the rent on time and don't vomit in the common area on Saturday night from demon alcohol, I am fine in everyone's book.
Here's the reality, in case you missed it: Baby Boomers no longer have to worry about appropriate playmates and public schools for their children. With so many of us telecommuting and clients not at all inviting relationships, no one cares about our zip code. When I hung out my shingle at the end of the 1980s, you bet, I had to maintain a Fairfield County, Connecticut ("Gold Coast") address.
Also, blue-collar neighborhoods may be less a target for really vicious crimes than upscale ones such as Cheshire, Connecticut. There three members of the Petit family were murdered in a home invasion. As for petty crimes, like so many women, during The Great Recession, I learned never to carry a pocketbook, get a sophisticated security system for the car, and tell everyone, yes, your dog does bite.
There is also the wisdom on not becoming friendly with neighbors. As our mothers told us when we rented out first apartment, "Keep to yourself." In a blue-collar setting, there's little temptation to lose a sense of personal boundaries on a bad day.
One more thing. The public library branch in working-class neighborhoods always has all the newest releases. No signing up on a waiting list. Also, on Sundays, The New York Times remains untouched until I come in.