Staging, from what I can tell, involves taking every shred of personality out of a house and leaving behind what you might find in a high-end hotel room. Potential buyers can see the house stripped of unnecessary clutter and distraction, can see just its bones.  No bills thrown on the dining room table, no keys hung by the back door.

But what if you’re looking not for the bones of a house but for its soul? What if you are looking for a house that touches you, a house where happy lives, real lives, have been lived? 

If I was shown a staged home, I would open drawers and shower curtains, would look high and low for signs of habitation. I’d pay less attention to the perfect birch logs in the fireplace and more to the almost hidden crack in the closet door. 

Agents assume that buyers want a blank canvas on which to sketch a new scene.  I’d rather paint on top of what’s already there.