Help Me-I'm Going Snow Blind

   I've begun to feel that I need to wear very dark sunglasses when I go to see new listings as they come on the market. Some days it seems that everything above a certain price point is designed and staged in a stark white palette. Everything. It's almost shocking when a dash of color is added.

    In this all white fantasy land, you can meander from your white living room...

..to your white kitchen...

..to your white bedroom...

..and end the day in your white bathroom...

..where the only hints of color may be found are those prescription pills you have sitting around.

     I think I'm finally tiring of it and, believe me, I'm probably as guilty as every other agent and stager in participating in the all white fantasy, as evidenced by the all white Beverly Hills home I sold a  couple of months ago....

  Trust me-at no point did I say to my client, "Hey, don't buy this; it's all white." I liked it as much as he did. Of course, for him it's a third home, so it will rarely have kids and pets running through it which are generally the death of the all white fantasy. I know as well as anyone that we are (partially) in the business of selling fantasy or, more kindly phrased, idealized reality. But how has this become our new fantasy, because clearly it has. What is it in our collective subconscious that this is a response to?

  To use a different arena for a moment to investigate how our collective subconscious often rules our choices, let's look at network television. In the 1970's, when many of our cities were being strangled by crime and drugs and we were in the midst of sorting through huge sociological changes, our hour-television shows were about a bunch of white guys (or the occasional gal) who within an hour would track down a lot of white-collar criminals and make sure they got their due.

  In the 80's, thanks to an upturn in the economy and a President who was basically telling us, "It's every man for himself," our television centered on the rich and how they could turn on each other. Today's television tells us, within that same hour, that no matter what the problem is, be it crime, disease or brutality, we have the scientific means of breaking it down and solving it, hence the rampant rise of procedural shows filling the networks. In other words, technology can cure all. I'm sure that the popularity of all of these shows through the years has been a response to our subconscious fears.

  After a lot of consideration, not to mention a lot of white walls, furniture, marble and tile, I've come to believe that our current all-white decor fantasies are an instinctive reaction to the economic meltdown of 2008. When buyers could begin to trust that the sky was not going to fall (and aided by a price drop of roughly 20%), there was one factor common amongst virtually all of them: if they were going to buy something, it had to be perfect. Amongst those who did venture out to buy at this point, we all took note that the days of "wrecks" and "fixers" seemed to be totally gone. The economic meltdown so shook almost everyone's basic fears to the point where we couldn't not wonder if the insane prices buyers had been paying for apartments and houses were also delusions.

  As brokers and sellers began to wise up to the market that existed, a big movement to make silk purses from sow's ears rapidly grew. Staging suddenly became a profession and a fairly lucrative one. In the strain for perfection, stagers (followed by contractors) decided the pinnacle of perfection was attained by bleaching out all imperfections and almost all color, down to wrapping books in white paper jackets (this was the first tip-off that rational thought was being thrown out the window along with those old sofas).

 At first, we were all wowed by these All White Wonderlands and many still are. I, on the other hand, have grown quite weary of it. While I have engaged stagers for any number of listings, I still aim for a look that somehow signifies that someone actually lives there. Yes, I will go along with the fantasy of perfect visual order and neatness probably because those are my personal fantasies. I know it's so unlikely to happen but, hey, a guy can dream. Meanwhile,  I've started to pine for listings that have "potential".  I know that this craving is much more likely to be satisfied when I'm working in New York, as last week proved to me.

   As I went out last week to see a string of huge, superb Central Park West apartments, it was clear that, at least amongst these owners, an attitude has returned, an attitude that states, "Hey, this is the apartment-take it or leave it." My favorite of these New Attitude apartments was at The St. Urban at 285 Central Park West, a 1902 building I have always loved for its detail and gracious, spacious layouts.

   Apartment 6S faces Central Park, fronting the park for 60 feet that includes the Living Room, Dining Room, Library and Master Bedroom. It is an 11 room apartment, over 3,000 square feet, asking $7,500,000. It is a truly great New York apartment and no one here seemed to feel the slightest need to add any illusion. Or clean up...

Nice, huh? No stager here, that's for sure. And come on....

..who doesn't go for really old, blue shag carpet? And if cooking is your thing and you dream of sleek new cook's kitchen...

...you might have some work to do here.  But no apologies here, anywhere. My personal favorite was one of the back bathrooms, where....

..Evan has clearly staked his claim. Evan may be a grandchild who's camped out in the apartment while he, unwisely, attends a local acting school. Or, the towel is the only thing he has selected to hold onto from Grandma's estate, which, given the previous pictures, might be a sensible choice.

Yet walking through this apartment, I was thrilled- thrilled by its possibilities, thrilled by it's layout...

..and thrilled by the fact that it wasn't all white. Perhaps it also reminded me of when I started in this business, 31 years ago, and half the apartments we showed looked like this. Our buyers were just as anxious to see them as we were.

  The truth is that styles in decor come and go and when you've been in this business long enough, you can walk into a house or apartment and pinpoint the last time it was updated. I remember, years ago, walking into an  estate apartment on Riverside Drive and saying to my colleague, "Oh, I think we've just stepped into 1967." Sure enough, sitting on the coffee table was a copy of House and Garden from 1967 with a picture spread  of the exact apartment. (Of course many of us would now kill for the Danish mid-century furniture that filled the apartment). I'm quite sure that in the not to distant future, we'll be walking into resales of all white extravaganzas and muttering, "Oh, it's so 2010."
 
  The fact is that most of the Central Park West apartments I looked at that day, ranging in price from $5,500,000 to $23,000,000 were in this kind of condition. Okay, maybe not quite as distressed as this one but, in the end, they all needed the same amount of work. The pricing on some of these may indeed be bloated at the moment because of a misunderstanding by sellers who read the astonishing prices new construction condominiums are selling for and feel their homes should be financially on par with those. They've ignored the fact that the others are condominiums, with almost no financial restrictions for buyers, while these are all in highly selective co-ops, buildings that are looking for owners whom they know will be able to maintain their payments even in the worst of circumstances.

   Personally,  I would never hesitate to take a qualified  buyer to see any of these, knowing that they will ultimately sell at their market value and, with work put into restoring them, they will be among the most valuable properties in Manhattan.

   Most of all, I'm hoping that maybe the market will start to bend in this direction again, in Los Angeles as well,  so that I won't go snow blind and can ditch the dark glasses.

Jamie Foreman
james4man@gmail.com

PS:  Here's what the apartments in the St. Urban can look like when they are restored:

 

It's Free to Look.....: Will Zsa Zsa Face the Wrecking Ball?

It's Free to Look.....: Will Zsa Zsa Face the Wrecking Ball?:      Yes, it's true: after two years, on and off the market, Zsa Zsa Gabor and Frederic Prinz von Anhalt, husband number 8 (or is i...

Will Zsa Zsa Face the Wrecking Ball?

     Yes, it's true: after two years, on and off the market, Zsa Zsa Gabor and Frederic Prinz von Anhalt, husband number 8 (or is it 9?), have finally sold their Bel Air manse for a reported 11 million dollars which, sadly, is a tad under their original 15 million dollar asking price. Ah well, there goes the neighborhood.

     Zsa Zsa bought her home in the early 1970's, for $280,000. I'm guessing that's the last time any updating or decorating was done so she's still walking away with a nice bag of change. I'm not sure exactly how one would describe the style of the interior...

...Louis XIV? Viennese Waltz? Maybe what my grandmother (whom we'll get to shortly) called Jewish Provincial. And it's nice to know that the Prince has a hobby....

...although the couple does seem to have a predilection for pushing all their furniture to the corners of the rooms.

  All in all, the almost 9,000 square foot house has 6 bedrooms and 7 baths which, I'm guessing, Zsa Zsa made the most of.

   According to the listing agent (and we know they never exaggerate) the home has welcomed guests such as "Queen Elizabeth, US Presidents, CEO's, dignitaries and celebrities." It's not so clear whether Zsa Zsa was their hostess or if they had visited some of the rumored earlier owners, namely Howard Hughes and Elvis Presley. Personally, nothing makes me happier than imagining Elvis and The Queen chowing down together.

   And though maybe the house is more of Pink Elephant than a White Elephant, you'd still have to admit it wasn't an easy sale, which was made even more difficult by a proviso added by a Los Angeles Superior Court Judge allowing the loving couple to take $3,275,000 from the sale immediately but granting them the right to stay in the house for another three years, or until Zsa Zsa dies (which ever comes first).  Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...The new owner is hidden behind an LLC and is said to be a developer with intentions of knocking the whole thing down and starting over. Welcome to Hollywood.

    And poor Zsa Zsa-things have not been easy for her lately. In the last 8 years she has suffered through 2 strokes, numerous surgeries and emergencies as well as a partial leg amputation.  Then there was that incident back in June of 1989 which landed her in quite a legal snafu, when a Beverly Hills police officer stopped her for a traffic violation and her response was to slap him in the face. Then again, the Beverly Hills Police are known to wear shorts in the summer months, so are we really supposed to take them seriously?

   I'm guessing that just as many of her problems have come from her less than spectacular taste in husbands, who have included George Sanders and Conrad Hilton (while also having an affair with his son). While her appeal to men would seem obvious, she was once quoted as saying it lay elsewhere: "I am a marvelous housekeeper," she announced. "Every time I leave a man, I keep his house."        

     Her last  matrimonial choice however, Prince Anhalt, whom she married in 1986, really takes the cake. Yes, he's 26 years younger than she but according to the Prince it wasn't really a cougar thing. "We didn't marry for love," he has been quoted as saying. "It was a friendship, but when you're with someone over a certain time you fall in love." Perhaps this also explains the three grown men he has legally adopted during their marriage, although he also says he had a long affair with Anna Nicole Smith and at one point announced he was probably the father of her child (he's not).

     Not to mention the dubiousness of the whole 'Prince' thing. According to research, he's a former masseur, his real name is Hans Lichtenberg and he was one of 5 children of the chief of police in Frankfurt, Germany. In 1980, at the age of 36, he was adopted by Princess Marie-Auguste of Anhalt via a document created by one Hans Hermann Weyer, a window dresser, who was known for selling certificates of nobility and fictitious doctoral degrees. The Princess, who was bankrupt at the time, no doubt got a little kick back on the deal; she died 3 years later. It stands to reason that in no time at all, he found his way to Los Angeles.

   But let's not get down on the Prince; he's certainly had his share of recent hardships as well. 2010 seems to have been a particularly hard year for him. At the beginning of that year he announced his candidacy for the governorship of California, but had to withdraw due to his wife's health problems (giving great relief, no doubt, to Jerry Brown). Later that year he ended up at Cedars Hospital twice-once after he swallowed a bee and once after gluing his eye shut with nail glue (and you wonder why men don't wear false eyelashes?). Things must have been looking up in 2011 when he then announced his candidacy for mayor of Los Angeles, recycling the same billboard that he had used on Sunset Boulevard earlier in the year announcing their 25th wedding anniversary. I guess he just cut Zsa Zsa out of the picture.

    

      Then again, nothing could have been as trying for him as 2007, when he was found by police, naked in his Rolls Royce. He told the police that he had been approached by three attractive women while sitting in his car; they asked him to pose for pictures with them, which I suppose seemed perfectly natural to him. He said they then  handcuffed him (fun! though no handcuffs were present when the cops showed up) robbed him at gunpoint and took his car keys, his wallet, his jewelry and his clothes and then drove away in a Chrysler convertible. When they could have had a Rolls Royce? Sounds a little fishy
.

    But somehow, I can forgive Zsa Zsa all of her bad choices. At the end of the day-I admire her. She, along with her two sisters and their mother, fled Europe in 1941, came to America and thrust themselves on the public as a set of Hungarian bombshells. But while most women who are serial brides are usually are looking for financial security from men, Zsa Zsa seemed much more interested in working, as an actress or a celebrity, or whatever the world would see her as. She indeed started her career in proximity to the top of the heap in films such as "Moulin Rouge" and "Lili". As here career continued, the films went from "The Queen of Outer Space" (1958) to "Won Ton Ton, the Dog Who Saved Hollywood" (1976) to "Frankenstein's Great Aunt Tillie" (1984) and, ultimately, "A Very Brady Sequel" in 1996. But the real point here is that she continued working. And it didn't stop with film or television roles; there were endless talk show appearances for years, which is where she really shined as the creation of her own doing: Zsa Zsa Gabor. Basically, she would have gone to the opening of an envelope if it meant publicity and the chance to continue working.

     Like my own grandmother, she worked well into her 70's because she wanted to. Perhaps the soft spot in my heart for Zsa Zsa is because, in my mind,  she will always be connected to my grandmother. And it was my grandmother who gave me the scoop on Zsa Zsa Gabor, very early on in my life.
  To picture my grandmother, think of Ruth Gordon in "Rosemary's Baby", only taller and prettier. In my entire family, it was only my maternal grandmother who expressed any desire for a connection to a world larger than the one that surrounded them in their daily lives. For example, at the age of 10, she thought it important I visit the United Nations, so we did. On our occasional trips to Manhattan (she still lived on the Grand Concourse, in the Bronx) we would visit her best friends, Irving and Molly, who had long ago moved on to 51 5th Avenue, in Greenwich Village.

    Irving and Molly were both attorneys and had only one other partner in their firm, Sam. According to my grandmother, Sam was the legal genius but given the fact that he was both highly opinionated and extremely unsightly, it was Irving who was the public face of the partnership, the one who went to court, as he looked a lot like Spencer Tracy. In other words, maybe not the sharpest knife in the drawer but he looked good in a suit and had a winning personality. In the mid 1930's they were my grandmother's attorneys when she divorced my grandfather. She found out he was about to sail back to England with his new girlfriend and somehow determined that the wisest course of action was to grab my then adolescent mother and head down to the West Side pier to wave them off from the dock, so he'd know he'd been caught. Apparently he didn't much care, as he took the apartment keys out of his pocket and tossed them from the ship to Grandmother. That was the last that was seen of him for many years.

   To my 10 year old mind, Irving and Molly were indeed the picture of New York sophistication, which I think is exactly why my grandmother had me visit them. It was hinted that they had some very glamorous clients, such as Prince Alexander Hohenloe, an Austrian expat, who attempted suicide in his early 30's when his first wife left him but rebounded quickly when he fell under the spell of one Patricia Wilder, better known as Honeychile, a southern Belle turned  bit-part actress who took New York by storm, loved to carouse at the 21 Club (when it was still a speakeasy) and is rumored to have been the model for Truman Capote's Holly Golightly. Eventually she became Princess Alexander Hohenloe, or as she preferred, Princess Honeychile. 

Irving with Prince Hohenloe and Princess Honeychile

     According to my grandmother, during this period of time what occupied much of Irving's professional time was getting another client of his out of numerous legal scrapes and numerous mental institutions-Zsa Zsa Gabor. According to my grandmother, she was very crazy. When I got a bit older, while repeating these stories again, she gave me the ultimate lowdown on Zsa Zsa- "She was a nympho," my grandmother told me. Could you possibly describe any more desirable quality to a teen-aged boy? Yes, I think this gave me a bit of a life-long Zsa Zsa crush.

    As time went on, Irving, Molly and my grandmother all migrated to Florida (giving validity to the notion that Sam was the brains of the group, as he never considered Florida a reasonable place to live). Molly and Irving retired there, but my grandmother continued to support herself, well into her mid 70's, selling hair products by phone to beauty parlors all over the country. She, like Zsa Zsa, enjoyed working; it connected them to the world; it probably gave them a reason to get up each day.

    Not long after Molly died, Irving confessed to my grandmother that he had always had a crush on her, and asked her to marry him. "Can't we just live together?" was my grandmother's response, but he was having none of it, so they did indeed wed and spent the next 10 years bickering with each other and going out to dinner at 4:30. From the day she moved in with Irving, my grandmother only referred to Molly as "that lesbian" unless Irving was within earshot. This did bring into question the validity of many things my Grandmother told me, but then again-who knows?
     When, as newlyweds, my wife and I would visit them in their condo in Florida, my Grandmother would invariably slip us something as we were leaving- ivory knicknacks, vases, things that had clearly belonged to Irving and Molly. "He'll never know they're gone," she'd tell us. One time she handed us a very heavy airline shoulder bag that turned out to contain  full silver service for 12 and which must have been Molly and Irving's. We discovered it had been created by Michael C. Fina in the 1920's and it could not have been uglier. It did, however, pay our rent for several months.

    Irving died first; my grandmother and Princess Honeychile, it turns out, both died in 1995. But Zsa Zsa lives on and it makes me sad that, as architecturally uninteresting as it is, her home may be leveled to the ground in the next few years. I'd so prefer it if her home remained standing as a tribute to her and what she embodied-the American ideal that with ambition, drive and long, hard work one can rise to the top. Or at least somewhere above the middle.


                                         Grandma Eve

Your Needs, My Needs...and Where The Wild Things Aren't

     A wonderful client of mine recently said something that surprised me, after deciding not to take my suggestion that she put in a back-up offer on a property we had not had sufficient time to make an initial offer on. "Are you mad at me now?" she asked.
     It struck me as such a funny notion, though I realized it certainly reflected a concern for my feelings and my time. I told her of course I wasn't made at her.
      So let's be clear about something: this job is not about my feelings. If anything, it is about my clients' feelings. Most importantly, it's about me fulfilling my clients' needs in either selling or purchasing (or leasing) a home.
     Then let's be clear about another thing: it's very likely there will be a lot of feelings on your part about selling or buying a home. It is usually the largest transaction in anyone's life not to mention that changing homes is at the top of all those lists about what induces the most stress. Even when it's your dream home (or especially when it's your dream home) there are big feelings all around. You don't have to spare me your feelings. In fact, it will be more helpful for both of us if you share them.
   Trust me, I'm a big boy and you have my full permission to yell at me, if that's what you need though, of course, I'd rather start at some level short of that. While certainly not my favorite experiences in all these years, I've been called a "thief" by one client and a "pimp" by another. Since I knew neither was true, I realized (after getting over the initial shock) that the name calling was a reflection of the pressure they were experiencing.
    Okay, the guy who called me a pimp had a large cocaine problem which probably influenced his vocabulary. If the truth be told, he accidentally taught me one of the great negotiating lessons I've learned: silence. I was so shocked when he said it that I literally said nothing for about 20 seconds, at which time he blurted out what he really wanted to know: "When do you think the board of directors will agree to meet us?" (It was a co-op sale). Though by this point I suspected the real answer was "a year from never," I told him we were still trying to determine that.
     Let's also be clear about another thing: the current markets in both Los Angeles and New York are  filled with pressures, mostly because of the shortage of good properties. This is pushing up prices and resulting in constant multiple offer situations again. There is no shortage of qualified buyers and they are educated, see everything and know when a property is worth pursuing. They will likely be bidding against you. Or, if you're selling, it means we may have to sort through numerous offers and determine how to both get you the optimal price and select the buyer most likely to close. That's pressure; it's my job to dilute that pressure for you as much as possible.
    The client who was worried I might be mad at her for not putting in a back-up offer was, however, very clear with me about her feelings: she told me she simply did not have the emotional stamina at the moment, especially in light of her grueling work schedule, to be disappointed a second time at not getting the property. I find this totally understandable. The bottom line is we are all constructed differently when it comes to our emotions; it's my job to figure out how to make your emotional make-up work for you in finding a home and not work against you.
     So at this point, my job was about continuing to try to find the right home for her, as well as monitoring what was happening with the deal she lost out to. Sure enough, several weeks later that first deal did fall apart and we closed on it several weeks ago.
     Most importantly, the more you tell me, no matter how foolish or irrelevant you think it might be, the more I can help you find what you want.
     Okay, enough already with your needs, let's talk about what I need....
     What I need is simple: I need you to tell me what you like, and what you don't like. It makes finding a home for you so much easier. Finding out your likes and dislikes is simply a part of the process of looking at homes. I need you to ask me all the questions that are on your mind. There are no dumb questions and no one expects you to be an expert at this anymore than they expect you to be an expert on the most recent tax codes when you go to pay your taxes. That's why you hire someone. In both New York and Los Angeles, transactions seem to become more and more complicated with each passing year because, as prices have risen, so has governmental oversight of the industry (this isn't necessarily a bad thing by the way).
      And the only other thing I always need from you are your referrals; that is how I grow my business. It is of utmost importance for me to take great care of those clients referred to me by my clients and friends.
       So, now that we've aired all our needs, I can't leave without at least a little bit of real estate porn:

Where The Wild Things Aren't...

       The contract was just signed this week for the former apartment and, reportedly, studio of Maurice Sendak, a third floor Classic 5 Room apartment at 40 Fifth Avenue in Greenwich Village, which was asking $3,150,000. 

        I may actually still know the text of a number of Sendak's children's books by heart, since way back in time when children watched videotapes (and my son was around 4), we had a brilliantly done collection of them he'd received as a gift and, as those of you with children may know, they like to watch them over and over and over.  Carole King wrote the music for several of them and this one was a big hit in our house.

        As his stories illustrated, Sendak was by all accounts, if not a curmudgeon, certainly a contrarian. That's exactly why children love his stories. But contrarian or not, the guy clearly had superb real estate taste.

         Sendak's third floor apartment has a Living Room with a woodburning fireplace, a formal dining room and two bedrooms and baths. There are views of the building's garden courtyard and of the grounds of the First Presbyterian Church.

         Not only are the layouts at 40 5th Avenue (at the corner of 10th Street) classic, the building is, hands down, the the best building downtown. It was built as a co-op in 1929 and has always been maintained in the tradition of an Upper East Side white glove building.

         Nice to know that whatever Sendak's inner demons may have been, they certainly had a lovely home.

    Jamie Foreman

    james4man@gmail.com

It's Free to Look.....: Do the Right Thing

It's Free to Look.....: Do the Right Thing:   Let me preface what I'm about to say by mentioning that if you are even thinking  about selling your home now, keep  thinking. As every br...

Do the Right Thing

  Let me preface what I'm about to say by mentioning that if you are even thinking about selling your home now, keep thinking. As every broker will tell you, there's a real shortage of good homes on the market right now resulting in prices pushing up. Basically, an issue of demand and supply.

  That being said, if and when you do decide to sell your home here's my advice: maximize your profit and Do The Right Thing. By 'the right thing' I mean get some outside advice on presenting your home for sale. It can be a real estate agent, it can be a stager, it can be a designer you know-it could be all three. Every week I see examples of doing it the right way and, painfully, of the opposite. The opposite will most likely reduce the price you get and probably prolong the amount of time your property spends on the market.

  Odds are good that you don't see your house the way the rest of the world does. Let's not forget-one man's objet d'art can be another man's emetic. Look, I love my house and most of the things in it. I love being there; it makes me feel good. Even I would call in someone from the outside because I'm too close to it. A friend of my daughter's recently told her, "I love coming to your house; it looks just like Harry Potter's!" Unless I was aiming for 5th graders with a lot of cash on hand, that's not exactly what I'd be going for in marketing it. On the occasions when a friend or even a client to whom I've sold the house asks me what I think they will get for the house in the current market, I tell them I have to come over with my "other" eyes. It can be a house I've spent endless hours in but I still need to go in to it analyzing it the way the market will perceive it.

   While I find the current market here in L.A (and in New York as well) to be quite healthy, we're still in a market in which imagination counts for almost zero. Buyers want it done or, at worst, to only have to make minor cosmetic changes. Even paint scratches or missing doorknobs begin to subconsciously suggest "Oh, it needs work." And clutter is the ultimate fantasy killer.

   While purchasing a home is usually the largest transaction one incurs and involves numerous practical considerations, let's not kid ourselves. What we're selling, to some extent,  is fantasy. The fantasy of how good it will feel to live there. When our hearts beat a bit faster as we walk into our immaculately kept dream house, we willingly forget that once we move in with our three kids, dog, two cats, two hamsters and a snake, it's not going to look like that for long. At best, it'll look like that for 15 minutes before we have a party. But when we're looking to buy, we forget all that if our dream is laid out before us.

   If you've read this blog before, you probably know how I feel about the work of many stagers-it has a sameness and a lack of personality. But ironically-it works; I can't deny that. Sometimes you, or I as your agent, have to pull them back a bit. For example, I hate it when they have dining room tables set for dinner. To me, it suggests that either Frazzled Mom had to set the table early in the morning before packing in the rest of her day or, even worse, that the family had to leave town in a hurry for mysterious reasons. Last week, in a newly renovated Hancock Park home I saw a new low in this concept...

... I mean come on, even four-year-olds, who are known to occasionally take a bite out of wax fruit, won't fall for ceramic avocados. In the living room of the same home, where there was no other art work, there was, for some unknown reason...

...an impressionistic painting of Ronald Reagan. Let's not even discuss the badly placed lamps and the weird fertility symbol on the table or how crookedly it's hung. Let me simply suggest putting away any and all portraits you may own of political figures. The new owner's fantasies do not include your politics. Art, in general, is a tricky issue. Sometimes it is a huge benefit in showing a home. But most agents I know have had to suggest at one time or another, "How about taking down the collection of erotic paintings?" Certainly in this area not everyone has the same fantasies. And bad art is just as tricky, such as the painting I recently saw at the top of the stairs in a musty Beverly Hills mansion....

   While I'd like to believe it is a painting of the now deceased's granddaughter, I couldn't shake the feeling it was a portrait of grandpa's last girlfriend, the one who will be receiving the proceeds from the sale of this 15 million dollar manse or, at least, fighting over it in court with his children. In other words: I was paying little attention to the house itself.

    Much of what you need to do before showing your home is about paring down. This would have been sage advice for another home now on the market...

    Let's just say that when it comes to tchotchkes, less is more. And yes, flowers are lovely...

..but not if they're dead or have been arranged by a seven year old boy with ADHD. And while we're on bathrooms: pare down here as much as anywhere...

..which is what someone should have told the owner of this Sunset Strip house. Here's a place where we really do not want to see your stuff. A few good towels won't hurt the presentation either.

    While you're out towel shopping, think about bed linens as well. Nothing deflates fantasies more than sadly dressed beds. That same Beverly Hills Mansion with the bad portrait had 9 bedrooms...

..each one...

..with a more depressing bedspread...

..than the one before. Of course the winner of the week for most depressing bedroom...

..would have to be this one, which can only send the message, "Yes, here's where grandma died." This is what's known as a tough sale. Clearly no stager was called in here. Or here:

While this room has enough working against it, here's another tip: hide the electrical cords. When they're running along the wall like this, it tends to suggest there may be wiring issues. And I'm telling you now-if you happen to have vertical blinds...

...I will be asking you to take them down (I think the person who invented vertical blinds should be imprisoned, for life). Also, if you have your furniture arranged around the perimeter of the room like this, just know now that we will be rearranging it.

   But enough of what not to do. Let's look at one of the best examples of what can be done and how it maximized the owner's profit.
   A brilliant interior designer I know recently bought a home for herself:

   Lovely house on a very large lot (much of which was unused). As soon as she moved in and started designing it for herself, she knew it was the right house in the wrong part of town for her, and put it back on the market. Ordinarily this would be a situation in which a seller's biggest question is how much money will I lose on top of what I just paid for it?

   But this seller was very lucky and didn't even have to hire a stager; she was the stager, effectively cutting out the middle man (warning: don't try this at home, kids, unless you are a designer). So the perfectly nice dining room she acquired....

...was transformed....

...into a first class entertaining space. A recently installed but somewhat barren kitchen....

...was now the place where everyone will offer to help you with the dishes...

...while pouring out all their most horrifying secrets. Personally, I believe the transformation of this room alone would have re-sold the house. But she didn't stop there. The perfectly acceptable library she inherited off the main entry....

....she transformed into a study and/or guest room....

....which, among other things, makes downloading books seem like a passing fad. She was able to take a master bedroom with good features but a bit of that corporate-extended-stay feeling....

...and create yet another room that you just don't want to leave....

....especially when there's a fire going.  Even a perfectly nice bathroom...

...she transformed just enough...

...to make it hypnotic. By the time prospective buyers had made it to this room, they were thoroughly ensconced in the fantasy of what it would be like to live here.  Even the large, formerly empty lawn....

....now incorporated a bocce ball court:

    Okay, at this point you might be thinking, "Is there really any difference between a ceramic artichoke and a bocce court?" No; in reality, there isn't. But again, we're not talking about reality here. We're talking about that fantasy-of living here. You know you're not going to sit down to a ceramic artichoke appetizer no matter how long you live there. Buy you could maybe see yourself oh, you know, learning to play bocce. Okay, it's not exactly the Kennedys playing touch football, but it still could look pretty good on a sunny holiday. You see how it works? We're already so far into fantasy that we've reinvented holidays as easy going family get-togethers. I'm telling you-this stuff works.

    So where does it get you as a seller? In this particular case, it got the seller $205,000 more than she had paid for it only 90 days earlier. That's fairly amazing and totally attributable to her talented eye, as are the number of offers she had for the property.

    "But I'm not a designer, " you may be thinking. Even so, you can still do the right thing and bring in that outside eye to help you optimize your eventual financial return. Maybe more succinctly- you're not a designer, so get out of your own way. Find someone, whether it's an agent, a stager or a talented friend, who will help you get it to the point where it is at its most attractive to potential buyers. Someone who doesn't see past your toothpaste or the stains on the rug, like you do. It can make all the difference in the world.

Jamie Foreman
james4man@gmail.com