Every time I have ever stayed in an Airbnb that the owner has leased out in its entirety, I fall madly in love with my phantom landlord. There is something about this intense act of trust (well, what seems like trust, and which is actually a transaction) that puts me into a deep state of gratitude and, inevitably, desire. Every carefully curated household object becomes a cypher for their deep, impregnable perfection. Everything about the place becomes a prism through which the city beyond—their city!—becomes more real, more beautiful, more yours. Airbnb is one long roleplay where you get to become a local. It's heady, heady stuff.
The problem is when the Airbnb host is frequently in contact, like mine was the last time I went to Tel Aviv. When they live above your flat, or nearby, or just need to "pop in" every so often like a wacky sitcom character, this paragon of local flavor and aesthetic wisdom becomes very appealing indeed. Have you dreamed of sleeping with your host? Of course you have! But let me sow seeds of doubt: from first-hand experience, it is a terrible idea.
On one level, it is simply a terrible idea because you do not know these people's lives. To you, they are basically one of the performers in a Disneyland parade, seemingly there for your pleasure. So when something happens, if it does, it is unpleasant to then get to grips with a three-dimensional human being who, as happened with me, may have a husband. Or a son. Or both!
But beyond that is the strange transaction this kind of coitus ends up breeding. Even if you are prepared for the entire illusion of the foreign lover to fall tumbling down around them, even if they are actually a perfect human being, the problem is that there is a weird power relationship at play here: After hooking up with the absolute snack of a host, I suddenly became his go-between for dealing with my flatmates, and the ambassador for my friends if they needed anything from him.
Sex, suddenly, becomes part of an odd transaction: Did they do it because they wanted to give you an amazing experience and get that great review? Did you do it because you felt like you wanted to prove yourself accommodating in their accommodation? The answer, for me, was, sort of, yeah. As attractive as your host may be, those five phantom stars loom over you, like giving your Uber driver a hand shandy mid-ride. (I've not done this, but mazel tov to you if you have.)
And then there's the weirdest part: If they are an Airbnb host, then you are just one of many dozen people passing through their doors. Maybe every time a hirsute gay cub shacked up in their flat, they invited him up onto the roof for a beer and a shagging too. Maybe this is how they get their kicks. Maybe you are a dispensable cog in a larger machine. When you're on holiday, don’t risk having to face the ethical quandary of shagging the person who put a roof over your head and offered you advice on where to eat. Just stick to the millions of other people around you, even if it is an inconvenience that they don't have the keys to your flat.
