It’s a tiny hidey-hole with alarming turquoise walls and no place to hang clothes other than the side of the shower — yet one new New Yorker is hellbent on making his 100-square-foot apartment livable.

The studio hit the rental market in June, prompting a storm of media criticism and general laughter at its diminutive size. And its lack of windows. And its bathroom with no door. And its minifridge. And its hot plate with two burners.

The list of terrible qualities goes on, but the rent isn’t one of them. On the Upper West Side of Manhattan, where a studio goes for an average of $2,844 per month, this walk-up at 114 W. 71st St. was asking just $1,100.

So, against all aesthetic odds, the apartment found a renter. And of course, it’s an unsuspecting kid from Wisconsin.

A first-time city dweller fresh off the plane, Grayson Altenberg works as a chef at Lincoln Ristorante in Lincoln Center. He decided to trade the extra square feet for an affordable place from which he can walk to work. A cheery Altenberg — remember, he hasn’t lived in New York for long — gave the Village Voice a video tour of his (very) humble abode.

“Welcome to my crib! This is my single little room in Manhattan,” Altenberg says to the camera, chuckling. “I’m going to want to date someone eventually, but bring them and say, ‘Hey, this is the situation. I have a room that fits one person.'”

Despite the fact that there’s no room for a table and he eats off a tray, Altenberg manages to fit a surprising number of culinary supplies, utensils, and condiments on shelves and overhead racks. “I do miss having my big kitchen,” he acknowledges, “but I also have a very, very giant kitchen at Lincoln Center.”

He tucked a shoe tree behind the front door, and props his computer on a shelf above the bed, next to stacks of folded clothes, to play music.

Check out the bathroom (above left), which has storage above the toilet . . . and not much else. “That is that,” Altenberg says. “It is literally a little bowl.”

Like many young New Yorkers, Altenberg sees his apartment as a crash pad, and is planning to spend most of his free time out. “I don’t need a living room,” he says. “I don’t intend on spending that amount of time at home. My living room is Central Park.” (The park is a block and a half away.)

But he does acknowledge the pitfalls of small-space living, like the fact that he has to eat sitting on his bed, and that he needs to buy a curtain to serve as the bathroom door. He half-jokes: “There are things I am living without . . . like a chair.”

Broker Leon Feingold of Masonic Realty completely owned up to all the apartment’s flaws when he marketed the unit.

This apartment is so small, you can’t have three friends over at the same time; one of you will have to wait outside in the hall.

It’s so small you can’t gain weight once you move in.

It’s so small there’s a bumper on the front door to keep it from hitting the back wall.

It’s so small you have to move the bed just to open and close the front door.

It’s about 100sf, with the main room perhaps 7′ x 11′, plus a bathroom, NO KITCHEN OR STOVE, and the shower next to the sink. And fortunately, only this bullet point is true.

On his Facebook page, Feingold posted, “Does anyone want to see NYC’s smallest legal apartment for rent???” with a link to the listing. It attracted 76 comments, ranging from the incredulous (“Wow, I have seen quarters in a submarine that are bigger than that!”) and desirous (“I’m tempted to take this as a pied-à-terre”) to the snarky (“They would have to pay me that to live there”) and downright insulting (“I feel claustrophobic just viewing this place . . . Shame on the owner!”).

But Altenberg signed the lease anyway. He doesn’t mind that cooking in a small space might make his clothes smell. After all, New York is odorous, too.

“I think the city itself stinks so much that I don’t think anyone’s going to notice. And if they do notice, they’ll notice I smell like delicious food,” he says. “This is all I need for the time being. My routine works here. I can get up in the morning. I can still take my shower. I can still make my coffee. I can get myself to work in five minutes.”

As he walks down the four flights of stairs to a sunny, tree-lined street filled with brownstones, he says: “I made the sacrifice of space to be living in Manhattan.”