Valley Commentary : Drawing the Line on Social Status : South Van Nuys becomes Sherman Oaks and there goes the neighborhood. Perhaps the Northridge quake will reverse the newly acquired esteem.

I moved a while back, to a home exactly like my former one, but in a much better part of the city. I didn’t have to pack or call a moving company. I park where I always have, but my new area has a lower crime rate. My near neighbors are exactly the ones I had before, but now I share a community with movie stars.

Like thousands of Valleyites in recent years, I moved without moving. With a shift of the boundary, I went from Van Nuys to Sherman Oaks.

I’d moved to Van Nuys in the mid-’80s with my then-husband. Our real estate broker, who would repeat “location” like a mantra, said, “Location, location, location. . . . You can’t afford to buy a house in Sherman Oaks, but if you can stand it I can find you one in Van Nuys. There are some pockets that are better than most.”

We bought a fixer near Valley College in a pocket known as Chandler Estates, which was described to us as “Sherman Oaks adjacent.”

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We fixed, cleaned, painted, stripped and refinished. A few blocks away, in shimmering Sherman Oaks, similar houses were worth upward of $50,000 more than ours.

My mother would have preferred it if we lived in Sherman Oaks, not that she’s a snob. A North-of-the-Boulevard person, she didn’t want me to suffer as she had at the hands of those who lived south. I assured my mother that I could handle the pitying glances, the cruel slights, the involuntary recoil.

I shopped in my community, at the Hughes market on Burbank Boulevard, the 99 Cent store on Van Nuys Boulevard, the Builders Emporium on Sherman Way. When someone would ask where I lived, I would say, “Van Nuys.”

We had some history, Van Nuys and I. In the ‘60s I would cruise Van Nuys Boulevard after high school football games and go to Bob’s Big Boy with my friend Wendi. The cutest guys were there. We never let our parents know we were going to Van Nuys. They wanted us to go to Wil Wright’s in Sherman Oaks. Wendi and I knew that jerks hung out in Sherman Oaks.

So now I didn’t feel trapped in Van Nuys--but unseen forces were at work to rescue me, an effort headed by Sol Taylor, a real estate broker and president of the North Sherman Oaks Homeowners Assn.

North Sherman Oaks was South Van Nuys yearning to be expensive. The association’s sole purpose was to move our boundary from Magnolia north to Burbank Boulevard. In 1991 it happened, on order of City Councilman Zev Yaroslavsky. These mass status upgrades, being officially meaningless, are decided solely by the satraps for the affected areas. Zev nodded; we were saved. For the location-deprived, fake relocation is the best revenge.

A friend who lives north of Burbank was fit to be tied. She said, “Do you realize that your house went up at least $50,000 just because you now live in Sherman Oaks?” I promised not to change my checks or driver’s license. I guess it didn’t work, since she stopped speaking to me.

Actually there are advantages to sharing a town with Steve Allen instead of a bunch of bail bondsmen. Most of the advantages are pretty subtle. I probably could reap more status if I didn’t still say I live in Van Nuys, which I do say, not that I’m a reverse snob.

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My house has jumped in value. Sorry to harp on it, but there it is. My insurance hasn’t gone down a penny.

My mother is glad I live in an insult-free environment. She offered to get new high-prestige stationery printed for me.

My 10-year-old son immediately corrects me when I say I’m from Van Nuys, though it’s not clear he appreciates our standing. He may just like correcting me.

My diet may have gotten healthier--I know my grocery bills have--since I seem to be shopping more at Mrs. Gooch’s. I find my car driving itself to the Handy J carwash, Beemer country, rather than Rob’s on Van Nuys Boulevard.

My social life could even improve. My friend Leslie, thumbing through Cosmopolitan, found that we’re living on Dating Ground Zero. There are 50% more never-married men in my part of Sherman Oaks than never-married women.

That’s pretty much the upside.

It’s possible the trend will be reversed now that Sherman Oaks has suffered so much in the Northridge earthquake.

I had begun to love the Sherman Oaks Fashion Square and Ventura Boulevard. Now I see boarded-up windows and red tags. Those single men have been loading their U-Hauls, undoubtedly moving to Glendale. And word has it that my house may have lost value even though it suffered no quake damage.

Perhaps I should have never moved in the first place. Maybe I’ll call Sol Taylor and see if we get our name changed to Sherman Nuys. Or maybe Van Nuys will take us back. Who knows? My North-of-Burbank friend might start speaking to me.