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During a catch-up last week, my friend Jordan had some good news to share. He has just been approved for a mortgage on a new apartment with his longtime partner. “There’s no way I could have done it on my own,” he admits, and God knows a lot of people can figure it out. It seems the rise in power has become the fast lane to move up the ownership ladder for those like me who don’t have the privilege of inheritances, gifts, or a career in STEM. As nice as turning around with the person you love can be, it doesn’t quite have the same triumphant punch as knowing you’ve made it through your own homeownership.
I remember planning the future with enthusiasm with a boyfriend who had managed to buy an apartment (with the help of relatives and a salary from technical work). We broke up just before he moved in, leaving me with the realization that all this excitement about his apartment was a way of projecting my desires for something I desperately wanted for myself.
Part of me thinks I have subconsciously resigned myself to being an eternal tenant. Until recently, I had never put much effort into renting houses. I kept my decor modest, not seeing the point of doing too much. But in my current apartment, I went all out with rugs, Scandinavian furniture and cushions. A sign of ripe tastes perhaps, but perhaps also a touch of despair to find a certain individualism in a restrictive life situation. In other words, maybe this tramp-shaped vase will distract from the drab beige walls that I’m not allowed to paint on?
For women in particular, that sense of independence that was not granted to so many of our ancestors is best achieved by owning property. Having to accept that partnership might be our best option means accommodating long term commitments in our lives when we are already bombarded with other sexist silly deadlines such as the body clock. Of course, I know there are several ways to enter. Shared ownership for one person, or twinning with siblings. Sadly, I can hardly bring myself to share a bag of crisps with my brothers, let alone the property. I could move further afield, but my family and friends are here and few cities in England are as diverse as London. Stay with parents and save? Anyone who has quarantined themselves with their locked out family knows that the novelty of home-cooked meals is quickly fading. For now, I might just have to sidestep what I can in a Lifetime ISA and pray for a miracle that isn’t in human form. Hoping that a distant relative who I never knew existed, will leave me a legacy of a million pounds. That should cover the deposit for a studio in London, right?
It looks like we’ll be spared another year of X Factor, according to Dermot O’Leary who hinted that the show could return in 2022. I wonder if it’s time to throw in the towel completely? While X Factor spawned some real stars – One Direction, Little Mix, and Jedward to name a few – it has gone beyond its welcome. If Simon Cowell insists on intimidating us with the series for years to come, hopefully some real thinking will be put into a fresher format. Better judges for one; they lost me the second they expected us to believe Tulisa Contostavlos was tied with Gary Barlow and Kelly Rowland. They also have to get rid of Britain’s Got Talent flashy audition set-up and return to intimate rooms. Nobody needs a camera pan over a crying nan in the audience as an unpretentious teenager belts Someone Like You from Adele.
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