The average renter doesn't exist, so stop building for them.
In the last six months or so, I’ve listened to various panels talk about the value of amenities, and as far as I could tell, it was just luck that decided whether your amenities were useful or not, let alone profitable. I always imagined it like this: if I lived in a fancy BTR and a group was there enjoying the cinema room, I’d think that was a vibe and use it. On the flip side, if I walked in and it was empty, I wouldn’t be the first person to start.
The other thing that became clear was that most amenities were just a collection of nice, handy things that most people like. Gyms, lounges, co-working, cinema rooms. They chose them because they were the least likely to be wrong, hoping enough people would like them so the rent premium would cover running costs. It didn’t feel like a strategy, more like spread bet, which then led panelist to explain there was no way of knowing what amenities worked where and for who.
I think the problem is most buildings were designed for someone who doesn't exist: the average resident.
This is what I'd do instead. Pick a type of person and then build the bits they'd move across the city for. Market the building to them and nobody else. Then use those amenities as the reason the community exists, so the events, the perks, the partnerships all come from the same decision. Sure, you've made your market smaller, but it's a market you can actually reach and convert, rather than a big one that's mildly indifferent to you.
This isn't a new idea. Hotels were segmented decades ago. You get high-end and value gyms with different features. It’s just that BTR still builds one product for everyone and calls the differences "spec".
Here are some examples off the top of my head.
For the sports fans. The resident spends Saturday afternoons and midweek nights watching or playing something. The kit: a proper viewing room with Sky, TNT, Premier Sports, etc. on a screen the size of a wall; golf simulators and a putting green; pool, snooker and darts; a couple of racing sims. The calendar writes itself off the fixture list. Your friends want to come around, fan groups form, club rivalries create content, you hit more fairways. All good stuff.
For the fashionistas. The resident works in, or makes content about, how things look. The kit: a lighting-controlled studio, hair-and-makeup stations, content desks with clean backgrounds or green screens, filming equipment, a shared wardrobe and garment care room, and parcel handling that can cope with forty deliveries a day. Brand partnerships are the obvious extra revenue. Events become easy.
The foodie building. The resident hosts. The kit: a pro kitchen with equipment nobody has at home, private dining rooms, a top-floor bar where residents run their own nights, a chef-in-residence programme. Who knows? Maybe it becomes talk of the town. Maybe a future Master Chef winner owes it to your building.
Two things make this work. Everything on the list has to be something the target resident already pays for outside the building, so bundling it into rent is real value rather than decoration. And every building needs one signature amenity nobody nearby has. Once you've got the method, it generalises: pets, gaming, music, families, whatever.
.001.jpeg)
.002.jpeg)
I was hoping to find examples of my thinking elsewhere, and fortunately, they do exist.
Life Time, the American gym chain, now builds apartments on top of its clubs. Every property has a Life Time-branded gym and café, and residents get Diamond-level access to every Life Time club in the US and Canada. Their Las Vegas scheme is openly aimed at wellbeing-motivated, high-earning people, with rent from $3,000 a month bundling the gym membership, facilities, and services. The brand picks the resident. The amenity is the marketing.
Latitude Margaritaville is a 55+ community built entirely around Jimmy Buffett's music and the four pillars of fun, food, music and escapism (?). I’m not American or a boomer but that sounds pretty cool. And it turns out the demand was there before a house was built, with over 550,000 prospective buyers registered for updates. The flagship at Daytona Beach sold out five years early; the 2017 forecast was 300 homes a year, and actual sales averaged 600.
This one’s a rental. LaTerra Development in Los Angeles built an apartment scheme with podcast-friendly co-working areas, green-screen rooms, hair-and-makeup spaces and writers' lounges alongside the normal stuff. The result is a decent number of influencers, podcasters and YouTubers, plus people who work at Netflix, Disney and Warner Bros., with about a third of residents working from home and using the recording facilities. These creator-focused amenities cost about the same as a standard luxury amenity package, and LaTerra plans to replicate the model. Themed kits don't cost more than generic kits. It's just aimed at someone.
Fashion, cars and food already have their buildings at the top end of the for-sale market. Cars (Porsche, Bentley, Aston Martin), fashion (Elie Saab, LVMH) and F&B (Nobu, Cipriani) are all doing branded residences now, and Savills puts the average premium at 33% over comparable non-branded property. That's for sale, not rent, and it's mostly brand and service rather than kit. But it's a measured premium for a building with a point of view, which is more than BTR's amenity premium can claim.
And universities have been running the experiment for decades. Interest-themed halls are shown to improve academic performance and retention rates, and Dartmouth's housing director says roommate conflicts are rare because students are invested in the same programme. Usage, renewals, fewer disputes. Those are exactly the numbers a themed BTR building would live or die on.
.003.jpeg)
Three caveats:
Themes drift. Dubai built Motor City around a racetrack in 2004, and it's now a modern residential sanctuary for families. The Autodrome's still there; it's just not the point anymore.
Interests change. If a resident stops playing golf or stops watching Man City because they’re in the national league, they've got one less reason to stay, and your renewal pool is narrower than a generic building's.
Themes become the launch brochure. London's wellness co-living pioneer Mason & Fifth opened with a "head of strength", a "head of feelings" and a fortnightly talking circle with a therapist, and now describes itself as boutique guesthouses for extended stays and short breaks.
The common thread is that the theme lives in the operator, not the fit-out. If nobody's programming the building in year three, the golf simulator is just a room with a screen. This is an operating decision developers keep making at the design stage, then handing off to someone else.
I’m not an owner, developer or operator; I’m a marketer with only a handful of years' experience in UK institutional residential. My knowledge of op-ex is skin deep, and I haven’t done the maths. And the market is tough, and renters will take what they can get, so a themed building leases up no faster than a low-amenity one, so why bother? All valid pushbacks. Maybe someone out there who is an expert has an opinion. If so, I would love to hear it.
Shaun Munoz, shaun@residently.com, LinkedIn
%201.png)