I began my search for a rental home roughly three months ago, sometime in March 2022. My (soon to be, and from here on out referred to as ex) husband and I were in the beginning stages of our blessedly amicable divorce. The first prospective landlord I spoke to on the phone was obviously eager to get his property, a unit in a Midtown quadruplex, rented as soon as possible, simply to stop the incessant flow of inquiries. “Past evictions, credit, I don’t care about any of that,” he told me. “If you pay, you stay, that’s my philosophy.” He said he would be at the property in about 30 minutes if I could make it there by then, though he mentioned someone else would be viewing it before I did. I wondered if finding a place could actually be that easy. Then I got the call that it was rented. I had been beaten to it. It would become a familiar experience.
So began the long, arduous process of constant rejection. That could be the title of an epic poem summing up finding a rental in Memphis, Tennessee, in 2022. “A Long, Arduous Process of Constant Rejection.” If that seems overly dramatic, here are some numbers for you to consider. In the three-ish months that I searched, I looked at, inquired about, or saw roughly 115 rental properties. I say “roughly” because this doesn’t count the messages I deleted, the countless internet rabbit holes I went down, or all the phone calls I made. I arrived at the number 115 by looking through my inbox, message chains, notebooks, and Slack threads. My coworkers, my family, my ex-husband’s coworkers, my friend’s online mom-messaging board, my friends of friends of friends — a veritable army of kind, helpful people have been looking on my behalf as well.
Perhaps the most important number of all to consider throughout this process has been the number three, as in “you must make three times the monthly rent to qualify for this property.” According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the median household income for Memphis in 2020 was $41,864. The per capita income was $26,704. So, hypothetically, a single person making roughly $27,000 per year looking for a place to rent in this city would need to find, in order to meet the three times monthly rent qualification, a house or apartment for $750 a month. Keep in mind, we’re talking gross income here, so taxes haven’t been taken out yet. If a property manager wants to base these qualifications on net income, the number goes down to about $640 per month. Right now, at 3:01 p.m. on June 9, 2022, there are 33 results on zillow.com for rentals no higher than $650 per month. This is barring any other filters, like a place being pet-friendly or having more than one bedroom.
But wait! Don’t forget: Some rental companies require four times the monthly rent. I won’t go through all those numbers, but suffice to say, a person living alone on an average Memphis income won’t be able to make that work. I have had the cynical thought — and it has been suggested many times to me by others — that the three-times rent qualification is nothing more than a thinly veiled discrimination tactic. And yet, even when I decided on multiple occasions to forge ahead and ignore the three times thing, I would be rejected. “Insufficient funds,” reads one email that I received after viewing and applying for a Midtown duplex. I made it halfway through one online application before realizing that it required past pay stubs. I’ve worked part time and been a stay-at-home-mom for the past four years. My circumstances are changing, but an online application doesn’t care about that. I understand that a landlord needs to protect their investment, but I can also wish the process of finding housing were an easier one to navigate.
Here’s yet another number to consider: five. As in, your credit score is going to drop about five points every time it’s checked. How about the number 40? As in, you’re going to have to pay a $40 application fee in order for us to check your credit — which will then drop — and then reject your application anyway for “insufficient funds.” Do I seem bitter? Frustrated? Finding a place to live shouldn’t feel like running a gauntlet. And this is coming from a white woman with good credit history and a verifiable source of income. I’m so privileged it’s disgusting. Where does this kind of market leave anyone working minimum wage? Or someone who doesn’t have established credit? A retiree? A single parent paying for childcare?
The last number to become relevant during this search was one. As in, I was the first person to view a property. As in, only one landlord actually asked for my opinion on what I could afford instead of making the decision for me. I feel extremely lucky to be able to end this piece by saying that I now have a place to live. How many others are being left hung out to dry?
