Real vs Staged Life

We had a 'stager' come to our home today. A woman whose profession is to help people make their homes look like no one lives there.

What an indicator of the time we live in. We want our homes to feel like a five star hotel when we walk in, the toilet paper has been bent to a point to prove nobody has used the potty since its last swishing, an abundance of fluffy white towels await us, and there's even a little coffee pot so we can brew a cup in the privacy of our room before going out to face the world. There's no laundry sitting out waiting to be folded and put away, and of course no dishes in the sink because nobody really cooks. The pasta never boils over on these stupid lovely glass cooktop stoves, leaving instantly cooked on residue that won't come off no matter what. And all that stainless is, of course, streak free. (If you know how to accomplish this, please message me. It's likely whatever you suggest I've already tried, but I'm hopeful still.) (What was wrong with white, or even black, appliances?) (Who came up with stupid stainless steel that is always, always, always smudged and streaked?)

Apparently we all want to buy a home that feels like an upscale Air BnB.

BUT we want to live in a home that feels like we've always been there, minus the clutter of course. We want all our sweet memories  to come through the door with us, conjuring up memories of grandparents and freshly baked cookies.

We've been told to remove all rugs and family photos. The rugs can go back down for showings, but not for photos. We were told potential buyers will want to see the floors. I suppose they can be sure we didn't cut a hole in the middle of the floor and then cover it up. The photos have to be put away. We are not related to anyone. We have no family. No memories made.

(Is there anyone out there, like me, who likes to see who actually lives in a house?)

Of course we can't have anything red in the house because it glares in photos. No toys sitting out. We can have a big desk computer, but heaven forbid that you would actually own a printer.

All towels, candles, books, throws, etc. should be white. Grey is borderline acceptable as an alternative. The stager told us kitchens, living rooms and master suites sell homes, but the kitchen can't really have anything on the counter except a see-through cookie jar, so buy this house for the kitchen, but we apparently don't really use it.

Nothing on the floor or top shelves of closets.

Which makes a lot of sense when you consider all the storage units going up all around us. Nobody in America has too much stuff in their closets, we have space to spare.

Don't leave out your jewelry (mine is not worth stealing), your meds (we do have a fresh supply of hydrocodone if anyone would like to feel gross), and no guns or knives. Would someone really be able to walk out with a shotgun without a realtor noticing? And knives? I'm not at all sure why they don't want these left out, but she said something about them being a no no at open houses. Do crazy people really come to open houses and grab all your knives and begin to run through the house threatening people? If the answer to that is yes, please don't tell me so.

But we can leave out skeins of yarn, a book strategically placed with reading glasses nearby, or bowls of lemons and limes. Fresh bars of soap never used. No shower supplies but buy a new loofah to leave out, because if you go to a spa, you have to have a loofah apparently.

We went through this about five years ago when we sold that house (yes, I know. We move A LOT.) (We need to stop moving so much.) That stager told us to take down all the solar screens on the house so it would let in light. Texans LOVE their solar screens, because first of all they paid a fortune for them, and second they'll melt in their houses, even with the AC cranked up, if they don't have them installed. But we took them down and stored them in the garage. Don't you know the man who bought our house grumbled under his breath as he put them all back up when they moved in.

We aren't complete pushovers. The last stager asked us if we were willing to have the house repainted.

We said no. We didn't love the color when we moved in, and it's okay if the buyers don't either.

I already know when we go to find a new home, the toilet lids will be left up, the bedrooms will be lavender or red or bright blue, there will be stuff all over the kitchen counters, and closets will packed to the gills. Because that's how real people live. And we'll likely buy a home from real people, not ones who met with a stager. It never seems to work that way for us.

Our home will sell at some point, and the new people will move in, and put appliances on their kitchen counters, hang all their family photos, set their jars of stuff out in the bathrooms so they are handy, they'll cook fish and broccoli for supper, and put down rugs, because rugs feel nice under your feet when you get up at night, or first thing in the morning. We're pretty sure, even after we go to all this trouble, real people will buy our home. Then they'll live in it. That's the way it's supposed to work in a sane world.

Today's stager visit resulted in three pages of items to be taken care of in the next week, but most of them are pretty easy fixes. No wallpaper to spend thousands of dollars removing, no popcorn ceilings to remedy. I think we can get this list done for under $100, which would pay for a nice day at the spa, now that I think about it.

But I'm not going to think about that.