More of us are looking to live with strangers. That’s according to data released by Flatmates.com.au – a share accommodation platform that I have a bad habit of doomscrolling through. I am still shocked that a tiny bedroom in a Surry Hills share house can be worth $450 a week – the most in-demand suburb in Australia, according to the report. Surely that’s for an apartment, I think, swiping through the images. It gets me every time.
The data found an 11.2% increase in members joining the website in the past month, which is 15.6% higher than October last year. They also noted that half their listings are from homeowners and most of these are owner-occupiers. Living with your landlord is a scary concept, but at least they might be more willing to fix the mould covering the bathroom ceiling or replace the washing machine that cannot spin even a tea towel.
I have made some of my closest friends through share housing – you see them at the start and end of every day, become aware of their odd compulsions and habits, and sometimes cry in front of them in the kitchen. I am less lonely in a share house – more aware of the normality of my worries, which are often identical to most other twentysomethings. I’m also grateful for all the things that years of share housing has taught me – tolerance, patience, conflict resolution skills.
But while share housing feels like a rite of passage at my age, it may just be a road to more share housing. The data from Flatmates also found an increase in people aged 40–55 looking for a housemate. In a new report released by PropTrack, national rental vacancy rates are found to be at an all-time low of 1.02%. The situation is especially dire in Sydney and Melbourne, which have both experienced significant reductions in rental availability since the start of the pandemic. More than 1,600 people are being pushed into homelessness each month and demand for shelter services is continuing to rise. In the midst of this housing crisis, I feel very grateful to have a roof over my head.
At the same time that rental properties have become increasingly sparse and insecure, more of our work and study has shifted online – placing unprecedented pressure on our home environments. Of the 35% of Australians who have jobs that can be done remotely, most work from home at least two or three days a week. Although some universities have mandated in-person learning, others have gone almost entirely online.
This flexibility has certainly provided greater career and study opportunities for those of us living outside capital cities. And while it also presents the possibility of becoming a digital nomad and ditching the renting thing altogether, some of us need or want to live in particular places for various and obvious reasons (ie family, friends, partner).
I am lucky to live with extremely kind and considerate people, but our house is small with paper-thin walls. There are overlapping schedules and shift work and a very cute but needy dog. This means the kitchen table is not an appropriate place to attend a professional meeting, especially when a drainpipe bursts from the roof mid conversation. My room is dark and cramped, a little mouldy, and somehow only holds extreme temperatures.
I have found a loophole at my local library – some of the staff sneak me into the private meeting room between bookings. There is natural light, swivelling chairs and sweet, sweet peace. While the rest of the library is also pretty comfortable, I’m easily distracted by the solitaire game taking place on the desktop next to me.
I also have a nice local cafe that is always warm and sunny. But part of the deal is that I have to buy a coffee, which can add up to a lot of money across the week. There is also a serious lack of power points and the 200 tabs that I have open at any given time quickly drain my laptop. Sometimes, I think about spending that coffee money on extra rent – but what more would that get me? Renters’ rights? It seems unlikely.
• Ada Lester is a freelance writer
