I went to a rental inspection. There was a surprise

3 months ago 15

Opinion

November 11, 2025 — 5.00am

Several weeks ago, curled up on the couch and recovering from a music festival a day earlier, my landlord (a relative whose house I was renting) informed me that they were selling their home and I needed to find new accommodation.

I’m 25 and have had the privilege of living at home my entire life in the eastern suburbs of Sydney. Grappling with the news and a bout of anxiety, I got to work: downloading property apps, creating any number of profiles to obscure services and joining Facebook groups.

In his next life phase, the author will own several Howard Arkley paintings and a house to put them in.

The anxiety, in large part, could be attributed to seeking an adorable rental in a city where they are increasingly difficult to find – especially in the inner city, where my life is based.

Domain’s September rental market report had put the city’s rental vacancy rate at 0.9 per cent, with the market’s lowest rate recorded in March 2024 at 0.8 per cent. In the regions, the plight was just as dire; for instance, the Hunter recorded a rental vacancy rate below 1 per cent in September, even as rents rose 8.1 per cent.

My quest for a new rental began in the inner-city suburb of Enmore when I responded to a Facebook ad for a “Fully Self-Contained Studio”. The pictures depicted just that – pristine white walls, natural light beaming through the two windows, a bed and the various other ordinary features one would expect.

An initial inquiry received an instant response from the landlord, and we agreed to an inspection at 1pm on a Saturday. Days later, I was awaiting the agent’s arrival along with another person outside a building that Howard Arkley may have marvelled at, but not an editor at Architectural Digest. Fortunately, neither of the two potential new occupants fell into that category.

As we lingered outside, the agent inspected the studio. Moments later, he invited us to join him. As he punched the code into the keypad, the door swung open and the two current occupants – going about their morning routines, partially nude – seemed unfazed as three people inspected their residence.

The “fully self-contained studio” turned out to be a shared room.

A subsequent examination of the Facebook profile through which I had arranged to inspect this studio showed dozens of properties with very similar interiors to the one I had visited, and many of them used the same placeholder artwork on the wall. The profile used an AI headshot and what appeared to be a fake identity – the agent was a different gender to the one purporting to offer the property online.

So I continued my hunt, wide-eyed to the pitfalls of digitally advertised properties and the need to pry further into those marketing them – even if I was desperate.

Prospective tenants wait to inspect a property in Chippendale.

With the clock ticking, my addiction to social media grew. Will the next scroll be my next home? Has my future housemate just posted? Has that person responded to my inquiry?

One of the ads I responded to asked that applicants complete a multipage Google questionnaire with dozens of questions for a room in a flat in Rushcutters Bay. Sure, everyone wants to know a few things about the people they might share a place with, but are my literature choices and the fictional characters I most identify with necessary?

Amid a heat wave, I jetted to an inner-city apartment for an inspection.

The advertisement aligned with the property I inspected.

And for the record, no individuals were attiring themselves while I was there. Within two days, my application had been approved, a weight was lifted, and my saga came to an end.

I’ve got a small apartment, and while any Architectural Digest editor worth their oak would turn up their nose at it (although their advice would be most welcome), it’s my sense of safety and belonging for which I thank my lucky stars.

What about those who aren’t as lucky?

Ricky Blank is a Sydney writer.