Want to ruin your weekend and make a bunch of enemies? Attend an open home

The internet can’t decide whether legendary Irish poet William Butler Yeats actually said these famous words: “There are no strangers here, only friends you haven’t met yet.”

It’s widely attributed to him; if you Google “Yeats + Strangers”, it comes up a bunch of times. And, in 2023, organisers of the Dublin marathon even inscribed it on a medal given out to competitors as a reminder that running a marathon with people you don’t know is a great way to make friends. But there’s no record of Yeats having ever written or said the line, so the jury is still out.

I suspect none of this mattered to the real estate agent who arrived 20 minutes late for an open house he was hosting.

Cramming into an unfamiliar house with a collection of strangers on a Saturday morning is a great way to become the worst version of yourself. Credit: Michael Howard

Faced with a crowd of unimpressed potential buyers huddled around a FOR SALE sign, as if proximity might give them a better chance, he looked to diffuse the awkwardness by misquoting Yeats (or whoever said it). “Apologies, apologies, sorry to keep everyone waiting, hope you’ve had a chance to chat… you know what they say, strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet.”

It was clear to me that Yeats (or whoever said it) had never been to an open house in a competitive market on a Saturday morning because this group of strangers were not about to become friends – quite the opposite, in fact.

Once the agent finished setting up his little frame, the one that reads “Inspection today!” (a pointless activity, given that everyone was already there waiting for the inspection today), we were ushered inside. Details were exchanged, and the agent assured us he could answer any questions we might have. Tempted as I may have been to raise my hand and ask the obvious question – Why aren’t you wearing socks? – I understood this was not a time for jokes.

A group of strangers stand in a kitchen imagining what it might be like to own this house.Credit: Bloomberg

Anyone who has attended an open home, which is essentially everyone, given the dire state of housing in Australia, will know that it’s serious business. Sure, you’re there to view the house/unit/villa/squat, but you’re really scoping out the competition and mentally trying to identify who is about to crush your dreams.

On this particular day, at a modest house in a modest suburb, gathered a line-up of usual suspects: cashed-up investors, curious neighbours, amateur renovators looking for a project.

My wife and I slotted neatly into the depressed dreamers’ club, young couples who wander around the property desperately hoping that the overdressed agent is not underquoting on the price guide. But, of course, he is; he always does. Remember that two-bedder from two weeks ago that was priced at one point five? Went for two million.

There are slight nods of recognition as we pass one another in the hallway, a shared acknowledgment that while we may not be friends, we’re definitely not the enemy.

The enemy wears sensible walking shoes and Wrangler jeans. The enemy has mild back pain and half a million in super. The enemy simply wants to find a place for their adult children to live.

The Bank of Mum and Dad is Australia’s busiest bank.Credit: Simon Letch

Much has been made of the bank of Mum and Dad, a property punchline that speaks to a broader issue playing out in families around the country. A recent study found more than 60 per cent of first home buyers in Australia receive some form of financial assistance from their parents. From 2023 to 2025, the average amount provided increased from $108,463 to $112,436.

To be clear, I don’t begrudge this system; I accept that it makes sense given the circumstances. When the average dwelling price is 16.4 times the average household income, you take the help when you can get it.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t make it any easier to watch a man who bought a house for $17 in 1993 walk around like he owns the place (because he soon will). Midway through the viewing, a sheepish-looking young couple, accompanied by a set of parents, swept through the property.

Mum and Dad agreed the place had potential, nodding to each other in a way that signalled the deal was done.

For the rest of us, it was game over, and we began filing out, softening the blow of an all too familiar feeling by trading notes on why that place was no good anyway. Too dark, too cramped, no natural light, faint smell of mould, kitchen ugly, no storage, building old, strata expensive, possible white ants.

By the time we made it back to the street, there was a unity among the losers that I found almost inspiring; everyone wished each other luck in the hunt before heading their separate ways.

Maybe Yeats (or whoever said it) was right all along. There are no strangers here, only friends you haven’t met yet.

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