Dear realtors: you weren’t interested when I was hot

An open love letter from an expired listing to realtors hoping for an easy lay.

My place was listed for six months. That’s the number after five, before seven. Half a year. In that time, it got a ton of interest: showings, open houses, and lots of big talk from “buyers.” (We’ll get to those quotation marks.) But no offers. So I called it: I pulled the listing, gave myself a break from the pressure of constant show-readiness, and let the clock expire.

Since then I’ve had four real estate agents reach out via text, snail mail, and even an Instagram DM, eager to list my home.

I have just one question: donde esta this love when I was hot, active, and my grass was still manageable?

I’m a rarity in the Texas market: gorgeous land with a house on it, in hill country, no gas lines, no flood zone, close to a major international airport, fully fenced and cross-fenced, and—most importantly—quiet. That combo got me plenty of showings. Just not from qualified buyers.

The quotation marks around “buyers” are eating their veggies

Many of the so-called “buyers” hadn’t even listed their own homes yet. A few were just thinking about maybe someday potentially selling. Meanwhile, they waltzed through my property like it was the rural edition of House Hunters.

Which is why I got a good chuckle when Colby slid into my Insta DMs.

That’s cute, Colby. Where were you six months ago when my house was actively listed? Line dancing? Cattle driving? Competing in the Cowboy Hat Male Modeling Championships? I hope you made it into the top five.

There are two components to selling a house:

1. Listing it (which I had covered)
2. Finding someone who can actually buy it

You know, someone with money. The real kind, not the play kind you dole out if your silver poodle lands on the blue square in Monopoly. Someone who wants to spend that money on a house. Someone who works with a realtor to look at houses they can actually purchase. I know, I know, insane expectations over here. I’m working on dialing those back.

So where was all this “help” then?

FYI this is what’s meant by “help”

To be fair, Colby’s just the fourth agent to reach out. The first one sent a similar pitch (also wearing a cowboy hat). Two others mailed me the kind of generic postcards that belong in a community college graphic design course titled “what not to do.”

Let’s be clear: “Help” in selling a house equals 3% commission. For a house on over 20 acres, that’s not taco truck money, that’s going to a steak house and ordering the prime rib plus appetizers then asking to see the wine list money. So forgive me if I expect something a little more robust than “We have a marketing plan!”

Oh yeah, Weston? Like what? Snap some pics and fire off an email blast? Wow, what sorcery! Tell me again about your mystical MLS access. Sounds nifty.

“We know how to price to sell!” So… comps? You mean like what every agent does? Love that for you. I bet you fill out spreadsheets like a boss. Look at those cute little formulas you’ve got going there! Props to you for remembering to slap in an equal sign in that cell first, that part can be tricky.

“We know what’s selling locally!” Same, Gene. I drive around and see for-sale signs bleaching in the sun. The market is trash almost nationwide. What is selling? Deals. Cash buys. Listings under $500K. My house is none of those things, but thanks for the keen industry insight that’s so sharp you can leave your Leatherman at home.

Also I wasn’t a local buyer when I bought this house. I came from out of state. So what exactly are y’all doing to reach those buyers? Anything beyond building alters to the gods of Zillow and hoping someone magically appears?

I know the blue state exodus has cooled off since the COVID clusterfuck, but people are still leaving cities for land. Just maybe not from Dallas or Austin. And yet, oddly, when it’s time to sell a home, suddenly even the most obnoxious Texans are screaming: “Where are the Californians!?” while waving their lone star flags.

They’re moving back, Colton. Just like you told them to.

Yes I still want to sell my house. No I don’t want my time wasted.

Anyway. Yes, I will relist eventually. Texas is not my final destination. I’m leaning FSBO this round, not because I hate agents, but because I hate being jerked around. There’s only so much whiplash my patience can take, and we found the limit in the last six months.

Four agents have reached out. Four agents have said nothing compelling. No plan I couldn’t execute myself. No real strategy beyond “We’ve got a distribution list of 200,000 people!” Okay… and?

“Post and hope” worked when the market was hot. We’re not in that market anymore, Blake.

So unless you have a real plan, one that involves buyers with funds and a marketing story that sells the country-living dream, please keep sending your postcards. The recycling bin’s hungry too, Levi.

Until then, I’ll be here, sweating it out while the AC limps along and the local repair guys mistake my patience for weakness.