There is one thing that unites the members of my favourite Facebook group: a shared hatred of white paint.
In the comments, people moan about mid-century homes being visited by “the white fairy”. Some discuss whether it’s possible to undo the horrors previous owners have committed. One shares a link to a home for sale, noting the “incredible vandalism” of a whitewash renovation. “I got three photos in and had to stop,” one of 80 incensed replies reads.
These are my people, and together we are the members of Retro Houses for Sale Australia. The group is what it says on the tin: a place to share links to homes from the 50s, 60s and 70s (or earlier!) now on the market. Together, we coo over immaculately preserved Beachcombers and mourn the disastrously renovated interiors drained of colour and soul.
I don’t know how I came to be in this group, only that it now occupies a large percentage of my scrolling time and brain space. I take great voyeuristic pleasure in getting to peer inside old homes and, importantly, pass judgment on them with a group of strangers. For every delightful pastel bathroom or feat of wood panelling, there is an utter freak show. My current favourites include a converted church in Werribee that looks haunted and a series of dilapidated dwellings set across five hectares in Tyaak, Victoria that previously served as a cult commune – or, as the listing delicately phrases it, “a church-based community” with “a rich legacy”.
My obsession scratches a deeper itch than just gawking. It’s no secret that Australia’s housing market is a hostile place but inside the confines of this Facebook group, a gal can dream. I text links to standout properties to my group chat with the caption “I could fix her”, or send them to my partner to bags which north-facing room on the floor plan would be my future office.
I skip straight past the listings in moneyed Sydney suburbs – I don’t come here to torture myself with what is undoubtedly out of reach, but to fantasise about the life that could be mine if I left the city behind and bought a fixer-upper in the sticks.
Could I live in Kyogle, New South Wales, population 2,751? What about Mount Barker, South Australia? Most of all I dream about Tasmania – home to many retro wonders, most of them affordably priced, and many close to the beach. It’s a pity about the water temperature.
It’s a fascination that is running on borrowed time. In the real world, Australia’s retro homes continue to dwindle in number, as people with more money than taste knock them down to build something newer, cheaper and uglier. I see it happening every day, as I walk past site after construction site in the beachside Sydney suburb where I live, and despair at the history being jack hammered away. But online, I can escape into a fantasy realm of art deco curves and stained glass, trading heart-reacts with like minds and silently hoping against hope that, someday, one of these houses will be mine.
If, like me, your two favourite words are “deceased estate”, you’re welcome to join us. Let us know when your own retro home goes on the market, should you be lucky enough to own one. Just don’t paint it white.
