There’s something darkly comical about handing over half your paycheck to live in a glorified shoebox with mystery stains and a front door that doesn’t fully close. But for most of us in our twenties, that’s not a quirky phase of adulthood — it’s the plan. Renting in your twenties is no longer a stepping stone. It’s the whole damn staircase and it seems like it’s hardly going to change.
We are the first generation in modern Britain being told, loudly and repeatedly, that we may never own a home and not because we’re irresponsible but because the system was designed without us in mind. While your parents were buying two-bed terraces for the cost of a second-hand Ford Fiesta, we’re out here working full-time jobs and still rationing our heating like it’s 1943.
In 1997, the average house cost 3.5 times the average salary. Today? It’s more than nine times. If you’re in London or literally anywhere that has jobs, it’s worse. We’re not even aiming for white picket fences anymore — we’re just trying to find a flat where the walls don’t leak and the rent doesn’t cost more than an organ on the black market.
And what do we get in return for our life-draining monthly payments? Absolute chaos and £1,200 rent for a cardboard box.
I’ve taken to Reddit, a space full of horror stories that show just how far we’ve fallen. One user shared their experience of renting a tiny top-floor flat as a student. It was so cramped they had to fold out a sofa bed and use it as a “stepping stone” to the kitchen. Their downstairs neighbours retaliated with a campaign of harassment that included false noise complaints, banging on the ceiling with brooms, and sabotaging their rubbish so it wouldn’t be collected.
Another user shared their experience renting a “1.5 bed house” with a one-inch gap under the front door, an uncovered fireplace, a tree growing through the back wall, and no central heating. Just electric — the most expensive kind. They regularly woke up to indoor temperatures colder than outside. “The house acted like a fridge,”
Another user also shared their experience with asbestos, they said: “My landlord at the time knew that my cracked and collapsing ceiling contained asbestos and was in no hurry to have it removed.”
You can laugh, or you can cry but either way, these aren’t just isolated freak experiences. This is what renting looks like for millions of us. Unregulated. Overpriced. Under-inspected. And often, uninhabitable.
It’s not just about discomfort — it’s about erosion. Erosion of financial stability and mental health. How are you supposed to build a future when you’re busy fighting for basic decency in your present? The Prince’s Trust Class of COVID Report revealed that 49% of young people feel anxious about their future every day. That anxiety doesn’t come from nowhere. It’s built into the walls of our overpriced flats and asbestos infested homes.
Somehow the blame seems to boomerang back to us. We are told we just “need to budget better” or move “somewhere cheaper.” However, it is impossible when the housing system seems to keep failing us and deliberately ignores the real culprit: a housing system is built on profit, not people.
Renters in the UK currently have some of the weakest protections in Europe. Most contracts are short-term. Most repairs take forever if they happen at all. And let’s not even start on the deposit disputes, hidden fees, and landlords who think “damp” is a personality trait.
In 2023, Shelter reported that more than 2.5 million renters had been subjected to “no fault” eviction notices since 2015. That’s over two million people effectively made homeless, without cause, because a landlord fancied selling up or upping the rent. The long-promised Renters Reform Bill, first proposed in 2019, is still crawling its way through Parliament. And while it drags on, lives are being uprooted every day.
This isn’t just mismanagement. It’s neglect — and it’s systemic.
We are paying the price for a broken system we didn’t break. A system that treats housing like a business venture rather than basic human needs. And still we are expected to be grateful as if paying £1,200 for a damp, one bed flat with a carpet that smells like sadness is a privilege when in reality they have to do better.
The housing system might be failing us but that doesn’t mean we stay quiet. We push back and share our horror stories, not just for the drama, but for solidarity, because the more visible the problem becomes the harder it is to ignore.
And most importantly, we keep the pressure on policymakers, councils, landlords and demand inspections, housing that is safe, affordable and dignified because anything less is a betrayal of an entire generation.
We’re not asking for luxury. We’re asking for a livable space we can call a home and until that’s the norm, not the exception, don’t tell us we’re overreacting, because if you’re under 30 and renting in Britain, chances are you’re already living through a crisis. And the least we can do is name it for what it is and refuse to pretend it’s acceptable.
Click on the link to read more on the shocking housing crisis in the UK.
