They say you should never meet your heroes. I’d add: you should probably never see what your realtor does behind the scenes.
After 20 years selling luxury properties in Vail, I’ve decided it’s time to pull back the curtain. Not the custom Italian silk drapes in that $8 million chalet (though those are stunning), but the curtain on what really happens in this business. Consider this your VIP pass to the chaos, comedy, and occasional calamity that is luxury real estate in a mountain town.
Let me paint you a picture of last Tuesday. I’m showing a pristine ski-in/ski-out property to a couple from Miami. She’s in Louboutin’s. He’s never seen snow in person. I’m explaining the heated driveway system when a fox trots across the deck, stops, and stares at us through the floor-to-ceiling windows like we’re the ones who don’t belong.
“Is that… normal?” the husband asks. “In Vail? That’s practically the welcome committee,” I say, as the fox apparently decides the deck furniture looks comfortable.
This is my office. Where “location, location, location” sometimes means “avalanche zone, avalanche zone, avalanche zone” (kidding—mostly), and where a “mountain view” better deliver actual mountains, not just a hill with delusions of grandeur.
Over the next few months, I’ll be sharing stories from the trenches—the showings that went sideways, the clients who taught me something new, the moments that reminded me why I love this impossible, wonderful job. You’ll meet the couple who brought their astrologer to check the “energy” of every property (she rejected one because Mercury was in retrograde). The tech billionaire who wanted to know if we could “move that mountain slightly to the left.” The families who became friends, and the few who became legends.
I’ll also let you in on some secrets. Like why we realtors all know each other’s showing schedules better than our own families’ birthdays. Or what it really means when a listing says “cozy” (small), “charming” (needs work), or “priced to sell” (please, someone make an offer).
Fair warning: I’m going to change names, combine stories, and protect the guilty. But every word will be true to the spirit of what it’s like to help people find their piece of paradise at 8,150 feet.
Because here’s what I’ve learned after all these years: Selling houses isn’t really about granite countertops or ski access or even those heated driveways (though let’s be honest, those are pretty great). It’s about understanding that someone’s dream looks different at different times. Sometimes it’s a family creating Christmas memories. Sometimes it’s a couple downsizing after their kids leave. Sometimes it’s someone who just really, really wants to pet a fox on their deck.
My job is to help make those dreams happen—and occasionally to explain why we can’t, in fact, move the mountain.
Welcome to “The Life of a Realtor.” Buckle up. And maybe invest in heated boots.
See you in two weeks, Liz