All Intensive Purposes

I previously posted about "staging," a peculiar feature of the Bay Area's real estate market (and one not much seen in other markets, if my limited experience with photos on MLS sites is any indication) which involves removing a property owner's furniture, furnishings and other possessions, and filling the house (or "staging" it) with furniture and furnishings -- but please, nothing that would look like the possessions of actual people, since that would inhibit potential buyers' propensity to picture themselves living in the space. Done well, staging creates the illusion of more space and the suggestion of a sort of anodyne luxury. Jon Carroll has more to say about it.

Y'all do know about house staging, yes? Maybe not everyone. For the uninitiated, just before a house goes on the market, busy people in jumpsuits come in, take away every stick of furniture and replace it with selected furniture that screams "Buy this house, buy this house." The homeowner has no say in the furniture. If the homeowner is still living in the house, the homeowner must be very careful not to interfere with the stage set. Much better if the homeowner is not living at home, or in the country, or at all.

When the guy next door sold his house, the stager deemed his big television to be inappropriate, so he had to spend two weeks squinting at a small black and white model perched precariously on the end of his bed. He also couldn't cook anything that might have an aroma. Aromas bad! Signs of actual habitation bad! Must have phoniness. Phoniness sells.

Like, for instance, when the gay guys across the street moved out, the real estate agent decided that the house should appeal to a more "open demographic." So the spare bedroom upstairs became a nursery, with the cutest little crib and bunny rabbits and everything. God forbid there should be something gay in there. Of course, many gay partners have adopted babies, but none of them that I know would have stood for such a dreadful nursery. No, wooden bunny rabbits on the wall: definitely heterosexual.

So what is this staging, the staging that adds the bucks to the bottom line? One word: throws. There are bloody throws everywhere. There must be huge throw warehouse somewhere; truckloads must disappear into the real estate universe every week. Are they reusable? Oh no, there are hygiene issues. They are sealed in plastic and sent to tsunami victims, who still don't have enough throws. I made all that up.

No books are permitted in a staged house, except tasteful coffee-table volumes on Impressionist painters or architects of the early 20th century. And the books are rarely placed on a bookshelf. In the house across the street, one set was put on an ottoman -- and then partially covered with a throw!

On the wall, travel posters, because who can object to a picture of Italy in winter? And on the beds: tea trays, complete with cups and saucers. I know I'm a freak, but tea trays on beds make me anxious. Once false bounce, and the whole thing would flip onto the floor, perhaps scalding innocent cats. The whole time I was in the bedroom, I couldn't take my eyes off the tea tray. Tracy said it had an attractive breakfast-in-bed quality, but I mostly saw the disaster-in-bed quality.

I'm sure there's some marketing wisdom about the tea tray as a totemic object for upward mobility. I'm sure every piece of furniture has deep marketing wisdom behind it. I'm sure ... I just got goose bumps. Maybe someone is walking on my grave. Or someone is whispering, "It's all show business; flee flee."

The market has determined that Jon Carroll is not your typical buyer.

Is widespread staging a peculiar function of the Bay Area's until-recently-overheated real estate market, or do selling agents in other markets keep stagers busy as well?