One of my favorite Facebook group members is someone who shares a dislike for white paint.
In the comments, people discuss old houses from the mid-century era that have been painted white. Some debate whether they can undo the damage caused by previous owners. The focus is on the “incredibly destructive act” of whitewashing these homes, with a link shared to a house that is currently for sale. “I scrolled past three pictures and had to stop,” reads one of the 80 intense replies.
These are my people and we belong to a retro house for sale group in Australia. This group is dedicated to sharing links to houses from the 1950s, 60s, and 70s (or earlier!) that are currently on the market. We also admire well-maintained vintage beach houses while mourning the tragically renovated interiors that have lost their charm due to new colors.
I may not know what this group is all about, but now it occupies most of my scrolling time and mental space. I find great joy in eavesdropping on discussions about old houses, connecting with strangers over a shared passion. The allure of retro pastel bathrooms and wooden paneling is like a free fashion show. My current favorite discovery is a church converted by Welby. It has a ghostly appearance and sits on 5 acres of land with aging houses around it. In Teac, Victoria, there are remnants of a cult commune or “church-based community” with a “rich heritage,” as delicately put in the listing.
But my obsession goes beyond curiosity. It’s no secret that the Australian housing market is tough, but within this Facebook group, dreams can flourish. I share links to remarkable properties with the group chat, envisioning myself repairing and restoring them.
I skip over listings in pricey Sydney suburbs that are out of reach and focus on fixer-uppers outside the city. I imagine a different life that could have been mine if I had bought one of these homes.
Could I live in a town like Kyogle, NSW, with a population of 2,751? Or perhaps Mount Barker, South Australia? But most of all, I dream of Tasmania with its retro mysteries, affordable prices, and proximity to the beach – if only the water temperature were a bit warmer.
This charm is on borrowed time. Retro houses in Australia continue to dwindle as money often triumphs over taste, leading to the demolition of older homes in favor of newer, cheaper options. I witness this reality daily. Despite the construction boom near my beachside Sydney neighborhood, I long for the stories that old houses hold. However, online, I maintain hope that one of these houses can be mine, exchanging thoughts and ideas with others in the group.
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