Forget community: London’s co-living spaces are about living selfishly

The Collective co-living space in Old Oak, London. Photo credit Alice Whitby

The media’s obsession with millennials continues apace, and the focus has turned again to the concept of co-living.

Is co-living the new Airbnb for millennial nomads?” asks the Guardian. “Living with strangers holds the key to housing crisis and loneliness” claims The Times, suggesting “childless millennials” give it a go.

Communal living – where residents pool space, time and resources for shared benefit – could remedy a dysfunctional property market riddled with damp flats and replete with landlords syphoning off your paycheque for their pension.

But that’s not what’s on offer in London for aspiring co-livers. Companies like The Collective, Roam, Fizzy Living and Lyvly are all vying to cash in on the accepted wisdom that millennials are happy to compromise on space in return for an on-site gym. Websites with cheerful stock images promise concierges, community managers, cleaners and cinema rooms.

It’s the WeWork model expanded to leisure time. Co-working spaces thrive off oustourced housekeeping and shallow perks. Who needs wages that rise in line with living costs when you have beer on tap?

These companies have a similar allure. Redistribute the hassles of cohabiting with other humans in sub-par rentals. Avoid awkward spareroom scrabbling where one must suss out which potential flatmate might litter possessions with passive-aggressive post-it notes.

But as with open plan co-working-style offices that make us miserable, the promises of this housing model are hollow. 

Community can’t be bought with a deposit and a monthly rental fee. It doesn’t rely on underpaid staff to organise clutter and clean living areas.

Not having to draw up a cleaning rota for your housemates sounds appealing, but skipping negotiations over whose turn it is to clean the loo only trickles the burden downwards.

Anyone who has worked in an office with a kitchen will have witnessed and likely succumbed to this diffusion of responsibility.

It’s easy to assume that other people will sort out the mess. This is how cups pile up in the office sink and suspicious tupperware moulders in the back of the fridge. It falls on the office manager to deliver motherly chivvying, and the invisible office cleaners to arrive after dark and wipe down tea stains and toast crumbs.

The co-living model creates the conditions for collective apathy to emerge. If you’re not hashing out communal responsibilities with cohabitors, you’re not doing the work required to live in a community. Relying on a shadow workforce of zero-hour contract labourers is no substitute.

Feminists and socialists have long puzzled the problems of sharing labour, feeding inhabitants and maintaining a household. Today’s corporate co-living spaces are deliberately vague on such thorny political issues and offer none of the collective solidarities that co-housing movements in the 20th century strove to create.

Sharing meals is one of the most basic ways of bonding a human social group. In London’s co-living spaces, communal kitchens are touted as backdrops for group cookery classes. Dining rooms can be booked in advance with all the joy of a boardroom meeting.

In London’s co-living communities you’d be more likely to order a Deliveroo meal from one of the capital’s dark kitchens, exhausted from the sensory overload of a day in an open-plan office.

The “co” prefix is a misnomer: these are spaces for living selfishly. The radical promise of co-housing has been co-opted with nauseating capitalist buzzwords like “rentysomethings”.

The logic at play is peak tech bro: like replacing public transport with ride-sharing apps, corporate co-housing offers a private-sector fix that merely scrapes the surface of a problem that the market first created.

It could be otherwise. In Denmark, co-housing is a progressive alternative to the owner-occupier model. The Social Market Foundation think tank suggests government-backed schemes that allow residents to buy at a lower price in return for sharing rooms and facilities could be a UK version (though suggestion of luxury cinema rooms smacks suspiciously of developer-speak).  

But we need to act fast. Last week Chinese co-living company Danke Apartments received $500 million funding to upgrade its algorithms for its WeWork-style model that involves taking out loans in tenants’ names for them to pay back, instead of charging rent. Just no one tell London’s build-to-rent sector.

 
 
 
 

The Fire Brigades Union’s statement on Theresa May’s resignation is completely damning

Grenfell Tower. Image: Getty.

Just after 10 this morning, Theresa May announced that she would resign as Britain’s prime minister on 7 June. A mere half an hour later, a statement from Royal Institute of British Architects president Ben Derbyshire arrived in my inbox with a ping:

“The news that Theresa May will step down as Prime Minister leaves the country in limbo while the clock ticks down to the latest deadline of 31 October. While much is uncertain, one thing remains clear – a no deal is no option for architecture or the wider construction sector. Whoever becomes the next Prime Minister must focus on taking the country forward with policies beyond Brexit that tackle the major challenges facing the country such as the housing crisis and climate change emergency.”

I was a bit baffled by this – why would the architecture profession try to get its thoughts into a political story? But then Merlin Fulcher of Architects Journal put me right:

Well you know construction is a larger contributor to GDP than financial services, and most of the work UK architects do is for export, and at least half of the largest practice (Foster + Partners) are EU, so there's a lot at stake

— Merlin Fulcher (@merlinfulcher) May 24, 2019

So, the thoughts of the RIBA president are an entirely legitimate thing to send to any construction sector-adjacent journalists who might be writing about today’s big news, and frankly I felt a little silly.

Someone else who should be feeling more than a little silly, though, is Theresa May herself. When listing her government’s achievements, such as they were, she included, setting up “the independent public inquiry into the tragedy at Grenfell Tower” – a fire in a West London public housing block in June 2017 – “to search for the truth, so nothing like it can ever happen again, and so the people who lost their lives that night are never forgotten”.

Matt Wrack, general secretary of the Fire Brigades Union, is having precisely none of this. Here’s his statement:

“Many of the underlying issues at Grenfell were due to unsafe conditions that had been allowed to fester under Tory governments and a council for which Theresa May bears ultimate responsibility. The inquiry she launched has kicked scrutiny of corporate and government interests into the long-grass, denying families and survivors justice, while allowing business as usual to continue for the wealthy. For the outgoing Prime Minister to suggest that her awful response to Grenfell is a proud part of her legacy is, frankly, disgraceful.”

A total of 72 people died in the Grenfell fire. At time of writing, nobody has been prosecuted.

Jonn Elledge is editor of CityMetric and the assistant editor of the New Statesman. He is on Twitter as @jonnelledge and on Facebook as JonnElledgeWrites.

Want more of this stuff? Follow CityMetric on Twitter or Facebook.