At some point in the next few years, I am going to be selling the condo where I have have now lived for 33 years.
In many ways, my home would be fine for my aging in place. The location is fabulous, and one of the fab aspects of the location is its proximity to everything - 10 minute walk to my primary care physician, my dentist, my eye doctor, "my" hospital (MGH) that - god forbid - I may actually need someday. I'm a quick walk to several grocery stores, including a wonderful new Trade Joe's. There's an independent drugstore, an independent hardware store - where I know the folks - just around the corner. I'm 10 minutes from St. Francis House where I hope to be volunteering until I'm about to drop.
I have two - count 'em - two bathrooms, and a den I could easily convert to a second bedroom if I needed, say, live in help for what would hopefully be a short while (either way).
But...
My condo is on two floors, and the staircase - despite the railing I had put in - is treacherous. We're a self-managed condo association, and I self-manage the finances. It's a drag. I'm the only owner who lives here, and there's only one other owner who lives nearby. I count his proximity (and his friendship) as most fortunate, as he oversees all the upkeep of the building. (Not to mention anything that needs to get done in my unit, bless 'im.) He's younger than I am, but he's no kid, either. And if he decided to bail, living here would be exceedingly difficult for me.
The building I'm in is 160+ years old. So always in need of something or other. And the landing on the front steps isn't wide enough for comfort.
So...
I love my condo. It's home. It's warm. It's comfy. It's memories. It's me. But I'm pretty sure that when the realtor comes by, they'll tell me that no one's going to want my blue bedroom, my green bathroom.
While I (and those who love and admire me) find my eclectic and personal decor, my art, my stuff, ultra-interesting and ultra-attractive, that realtor is no doubt going to tell me to put everything on ice and stage the place so that a prospective buyer can see more of themselves in the place and less of me.
As someone who watches a fair amount of HG-TV, I'm familiar with staging. That's when professionals bring in furniture and carefully curated decorative items that on the one hand neutralizes a space while at the same time makesingit more seductive to the buyer.
I always find that there's a bit of a nice hotel or VRBO look about a staged home. But the argument is that this look helps sell. And once I decide (however regretfully) to dodge out of my own personal Dodge, I'll probably call in a stager.
Maybe that stager will be Jess Harrington, who was recently profiled in the Boston Globe.
For the story, Jess and her team were staging a "moderately" priced home ($750K worth of "moderately") in a Boston suburb.
They walked through the three-bedroom, two-bathroom residence one June morning, carefully assessing every room to plan each piece of furniture and decor. In the kitchen, the sellers’ mismatched stools and high-backed chairs had to go. One hardwood-floored bedroom was crying out to become a baby’s nursery. And another window-filled bedroom, they felt, would work better as a family room.
“It’s like a giant puzzle sometimes,” said Harrington.
According to local brokers, staging - which can run as much as (gulp!) $30K - pays off in terms of quicker sales at higher prices. (Harrington's scale ranges from $4K to $30K, pricing dependent on "size, scope, and staging duration." She has her own warehouse where she keeps the furnitures and accessories (e.g., pillows). She also stores her clients' furniture and clutter while staging's going on.
Harrington's team is currently juggling 38 staged properties, and it's not all on the "moderate" end of the continuum. She's also staging a $5.6M home on Beacon Hill. (When it goes, my condo will be closer to that low-end suburban home than to my BH high-end neighbor.)
When Harrington stages, she goes right down to the smallest of details, including the books that go in the bookcases.
I'd prefer to draw the line here. Nothing wrong with my taste in books. Still, if someone will offer $50K more if my non-my books are grouped by cover art and color, I guess I won't care if there's no Alice Munro or Henrich Böll on the shelves.
The goal is "to create an enriching experience for the buyer."
I'll be more interested in an enriching experience for the seller, but that's just me.
We'll see how I feel in a few years when I whistle in a Jess Harrington to come in and give the thumbs down to my grandmother's cookie jar, the steer horns that hung in my grandfather's saloon. To tell me to jettison that Bullwinkle figurine, the plaster mold of my husband's teeth. (Don't ask.)
Not that I'm looking forward to it, but it'll be interesting to see how it all comes down.
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