By Hattie Turner
As I’ve reluctantly inched closer to thirty, more and more of my friends have become homeowners. Some have now sold their first home and are onto their second. Consequently, I’ve always felt a little behind, still living in a rented flat while others pick out carpets for their spare bedrooms and discuss the merits of the £800 KitchenAid. My biggest purchase this year has been a milk frothier. I don’t even drink coffee, but just fancied having the odd ‘posh’ hot chocolate.
In the UK over the last fifty years, it’s been the default action for adults of a certain age to buy a home. In fact, since 1971 between 50-75% of employed adults owned a house at any given time. Politicians constantly talk about ‘generation rent’ but in reality, we are still largely a country of homeowners. It’s easy to see why. Living in a home that is yours is almost a cultural symbol of having made it. It’s the yardstick by which others measure you against. Come tooth and nail, people scrape together every penny to achieve that revered accomplishment. This is made easier still when government-backed schemes such as the Help to Buy ISA and the newly introduced 95% mortgages means you can essentially buy an entire house for just a few thousand quid. You just have to forget about the crippling 35-year mortgage repayments.
But more than prestige and financial motivation, living in your own space has many more untold benefits. Autonomy being one of them. If I wished to paint the walls bright pink or nail some questionable artwork to the walls, who’s going to stop me? Perhaps I’d like a husky for a housemate. That freedom, albeit acted upon in a slightly different way to these examples, is very liberating, and can be a huge plus for buyers.
All these positives point towards buying being the logical choice as a long-term accommodation strategy, but - without wanting to sound too Carrie Bradshaw - I can’t help but wonder whether being a long-term renter is so bad? The average house deposit in the UK in 2020 was £47,838. The average rental price in the UK in the same year was £700 per month, meaning you could live in a rented property for nearly six years before you’d paid the equivalent as those with the deposit. That’s without even considering the mortgage repayments, repairs, solicitor and surveyor fees, possible service charges and leasehold fees, all of which hang heavy on the purse strings.
There’s also the argument that flexibility trumps security. When buying, you’re in essence committing yourself to a long-term loan repayment for many years. You’re planted somewhere for the foreseeable future and it’s difficult to just up sticks and leave on a round-the-world tour without worrying about whether the last-minute tenants you found aren’t disregarding your stringent coaster policy.
Besides, don’t think that flexibility only extends to jetting off around the world to find yourself. And whilst the pandemic has changed this a lot, it also used to make you more employable. Unless you’re happy to let your house out promptly, are you stuck to applying for jobs in your direct vicinity, knowing you can’t be too flexible as a homeowner? Perhaps renters and their adaptability give them somewhat of an advantage.
Channelling my inner Ray Liotta, problems are easy enough to solve as a renter:
‘Fancy exploring a different part of the city?’ ‘No problem, I’m renting.’
‘What about the busted boiler that needs fixing?’ ‘No problem, I’m renting.’
‘What about the sudden work transfer to New York?’ ‘No problem, I’m renting.’
Sure, moving house can be slightly arduous. You might look at your new shower and see a complex algebra puzzle. The previous tenants might have left some little surprises for you in the fridge. But when you’ve got a few suitcases full of clothes and a milk frother, it’s not all bad.
