It's fun to examine projects that I could never underwrite or build in Toronto. Here's another one from Tokyo — a 10-storey, single-stair apartment building on a busy street, next to a metro station.
It's fun to examine projects that I could never underwrite or build in Toronto. Here's another one from Tokyo — a 10-storey, single-stair apartment building on a busy street, next to a metro station.
It's fun to examine projects that I could never underwrite or build in Toronto. Here's another one from Tokyo — a 10-storey, single-stair apartment building on a busy street, next to a metro station.
The site itself is only 59.49 m2 (~640 ft2), and the building footprint is 47.97 m2 (~516 sf), for a total of 388.28 m2 (~4,179 ft2). There's retail on the first and second floors, one home per floor on levels 3 through 8, and then a two-storey home on levels 9 and 10. All of this is serviced by a single elevator, and a single open-air egress stair off the back.
The building itself uses a simple structural system involving 6 columns (which you can see evenly placed on the plans). According to the architect's notes, they started with a simple 4-column design, but apparently the columns were too large and compromised the suite layouts.
Tokyo is a unique city and this kind of housing wouldn't work everywhere. But there's a universal lesson here: removing barriers and allowing small infill projects is a good thing for cities. Until these projects are feasible, we won't know exactly what the market actually wants and could support.
Photos from Hiroyuki Ito Architects
Customarily, landlords induce tenants to lease space in a building by offering X months of free rent, as opposed to discounting the actual face rent.
For example, let's assume that the rent for a particular apartment is $3,000 per month or $36,000 per year. Assuming the inducement is equal to one month of free rent, the two logical options are: (1) offer the first month for free and then charge $3,000 for the remaining 11 months or (2) charge $2,750 per month.
Both options equal $33,000 in gross annual rent, but the second option permanently impairs the value of the real estate asset by lowering the overall rent roll on a go-forward basis. So when you capitalize the net operating income of the property, you end up with a lower value. For this reason, option one is the standard approach. You want to offer as much free rent as possible before touching your face rents.
But there can also be local nuances to consider on top of this standard practice. For example, I found this recent tweet from Paul, a multi-family landlord in Los Angeles, interesting. He notes that in rent-controlled buildings in Santa Monica, you also have to be careful not to offer free rent in the first 12 months of a lease. Instead, you need to offer it starting in month 13 or beyond.
His example:
Lease rate of $3,000
Inducement equal to 2 months of free rent ($6,000)
Tenant pays 10 months x $3,000 = $30,000 in Year 1
Apparently, the way Santa Monica looks at this is that the tenant is paying $30,000 / 12 months = $2,500 per month in rent. So, after year one this becomes the Maximum Allowable Rent (MAR) going forward under the city's rent control policies. In other words, the monthly rent becomes the $2,500 number and not the $3,000 number that you thought you had contracted for.
It's an annoying gotcha detail, but it's a meaningful and permanent one until the apartment turns over. Landlord beware. Real estate may be subject to the flows of global capital, but in many ways, it still remains a local business.
Cover photo by Demian Tejeda-Benitez on Unsplash
Before laneway homes were permitted as-of-right in Toronto, many people couldn't imagine them being a viable housing solution, let alone a desirable housing solution. I vividly remember some critics arguing that only people of questionable moral fiber would want to live in a laneway. Toronto's laneways were only suitable for garages, cars, graffiti, and degenerates, apparently.
If you're a longtime reader of this blog you'll know that I've always felt differently. In 2014, I wrote a post calling laneway homes the new loft. And in 2021, after Mackay Laneway House was finished, I wrote that "slowly but surely, we will start to think of our lanes not as back of house, but as front of house." I went on to surmise that, one day, our laneways could even become the more desirable side of a property.
I was reminded of this prognostication earlier this week when a friend of mine, who is very active in the multiplex space, was touring me through one of his construction sites. What struck me is that he said that on every single one of his projects, the highest-grossing suite is always the laneway or garden suite. It commands the highest rent and it's what gets the most showings.
This, of course, makes sense. It's a standalone structure, whereas the other homes in a multiplex building are not. And if you have the site area to do two storeys, these suites can become relatively large — oftentimes between 1,200 and 1,400 sf. Laneways are also intimate and largely pedestrian-oriented streets, so a nice place to live.
But there's some hindsight bias in this obviousness. It wasn't that long ago that most Torontonians couldn't imagine a "house fitting behind a house." It was an unthinkable solution that would ruin the character of our low-rise neighborhoods. Now we have planning policies that not only allow them, but that are, in a way, promoting an inversion in the way our low-rise neighborhoods function.
Toronto's policies allow up to six suites on the "front" of certain properties, plus a laneway or garden suite at the "back," for a total of 7 suites. The effect is that an entirely new single-family house layer is today getting built on our laneways. An alternative way to think about this is that it's like taking an existing single-family house, pushing it to the back, and then building a small "houseplex" in the front.
Ironically, all of these policies were born out of a deep desire to not change the character of existing neighborhoods. It's why no one would dare call these six-unit structures anything resembling an apartment. They are house-plexes, which are just like single-family houses, but with an added plex in the name. Nothing out of the ordinary to see here.
But our neighborhoods are changing and they will continue to change. The market is already speaking in terms of which new homes it finds most desirable. And in the end, that's a good thing. Change and evolution are features, not bugs, of cities. When Toronto stops growing and adapting, that's when we need to start worrying.
Back in 2014, I compared laneway housing to lofts because of the latter's origin story. When manufacturing began to leave cities and warehouses started to get converted to apartments, they were viewed as dangerous, illegal misuses of commercial spaces. It was housing that no respectable middle-class person would want to live in.
Then the opposite became true. Loft living became a symbol of urban cool, so much so that every new apartment somehow became a "loft." I'm not suggesting that Toronto's laneway suites are about to stage a global takeover in quite the same way, but some 11 years later, I do think it's following the same arc of desirability. The things we desire aren't as enshrined as they may seem.
Cover photo by Nikhil Mitra on Unsplash
The site itself is only 59.49 m2 (~640 ft2), and the building footprint is 47.97 m2 (~516 sf), for a total of 388.28 m2 (~4,179 ft2). There's retail on the first and second floors, one home per floor on levels 3 through 8, and then a two-storey home on levels 9 and 10. All of this is serviced by a single elevator, and a single open-air egress stair off the back.
The building itself uses a simple structural system involving 6 columns (which you can see evenly placed on the plans). According to the architect's notes, they started with a simple 4-column design, but apparently the columns were too large and compromised the suite layouts.
Tokyo is a unique city and this kind of housing wouldn't work everywhere. But there's a universal lesson here: removing barriers and allowing small infill projects is a good thing for cities. Until these projects are feasible, we won't know exactly what the market actually wants and could support.
Photos from Hiroyuki Ito Architects
Customarily, landlords induce tenants to lease space in a building by offering X months of free rent, as opposed to discounting the actual face rent.
For example, let's assume that the rent for a particular apartment is $3,000 per month or $36,000 per year. Assuming the inducement is equal to one month of free rent, the two logical options are: (1) offer the first month for free and then charge $3,000 for the remaining 11 months or (2) charge $2,750 per month.
Both options equal $33,000 in gross annual rent, but the second option permanently impairs the value of the real estate asset by lowering the overall rent roll on a go-forward basis. So when you capitalize the net operating income of the property, you end up with a lower value. For this reason, option one is the standard approach. You want to offer as much free rent as possible before touching your face rents.
But there can also be local nuances to consider on top of this standard practice. For example, I found this recent tweet from Paul, a multi-family landlord in Los Angeles, interesting. He notes that in rent-controlled buildings in Santa Monica, you also have to be careful not to offer free rent in the first 12 months of a lease. Instead, you need to offer it starting in month 13 or beyond.
His example:
Lease rate of $3,000
Inducement equal to 2 months of free rent ($6,000)
Tenant pays 10 months x $3,000 = $30,000 in Year 1
Apparently, the way Santa Monica looks at this is that the tenant is paying $30,000 / 12 months = $2,500 per month in rent. So, after year one this becomes the Maximum Allowable Rent (MAR) going forward under the city's rent control policies. In other words, the monthly rent becomes the $2,500 number and not the $3,000 number that you thought you had contracted for.
It's an annoying gotcha detail, but it's a meaningful and permanent one until the apartment turns over. Landlord beware. Real estate may be subject to the flows of global capital, but in many ways, it still remains a local business.
Cover photo by Demian Tejeda-Benitez on Unsplash
Before laneway homes were permitted as-of-right in Toronto, many people couldn't imagine them being a viable housing solution, let alone a desirable housing solution. I vividly remember some critics arguing that only people of questionable moral fiber would want to live in a laneway. Toronto's laneways were only suitable for garages, cars, graffiti, and degenerates, apparently.
If you're a longtime reader of this blog you'll know that I've always felt differently. In 2014, I wrote a post calling laneway homes the new loft. And in 2021, after Mackay Laneway House was finished, I wrote that "slowly but surely, we will start to think of our lanes not as back of house, but as front of house." I went on to surmise that, one day, our laneways could even become the more desirable side of a property.
I was reminded of this prognostication earlier this week when a friend of mine, who is very active in the multiplex space, was touring me through one of his construction sites. What struck me is that he said that on every single one of his projects, the highest-grossing suite is always the laneway or garden suite. It commands the highest rent and it's what gets the most showings.
This, of course, makes sense. It's a standalone structure, whereas the other homes in a multiplex building are not. And if you have the site area to do two storeys, these suites can become relatively large — oftentimes between 1,200 and 1,400 sf. Laneways are also intimate and largely pedestrian-oriented streets, so a nice place to live.
But there's some hindsight bias in this obviousness. It wasn't that long ago that most Torontonians couldn't imagine a "house fitting behind a house." It was an unthinkable solution that would ruin the character of our low-rise neighborhoods. Now we have planning policies that not only allow them, but that are, in a way, promoting an inversion in the way our low-rise neighborhoods function.
Toronto's policies allow up to six suites on the "front" of certain properties, plus a laneway or garden suite at the "back," for a total of 7 suites. The effect is that an entirely new single-family house layer is today getting built on our laneways. An alternative way to think about this is that it's like taking an existing single-family house, pushing it to the back, and then building a small "houseplex" in the front.
Ironically, all of these policies were born out of a deep desire to not change the character of existing neighborhoods. It's why no one would dare call these six-unit structures anything resembling an apartment. They are house-plexes, which are just like single-family houses, but with an added plex in the name. Nothing out of the ordinary to see here.
But our neighborhoods are changing and they will continue to change. The market is already speaking in terms of which new homes it finds most desirable. And in the end, that's a good thing. Change and evolution are features, not bugs, of cities. When Toronto stops growing and adapting, that's when we need to start worrying.
Back in 2014, I compared laneway housing to lofts because of the latter's origin story. When manufacturing began to leave cities and warehouses started to get converted to apartments, they were viewed as dangerous, illegal misuses of commercial spaces. It was housing that no respectable middle-class person would want to live in.
Then the opposite became true. Loft living became a symbol of urban cool, so much so that every new apartment somehow became a "loft." I'm not suggesting that Toronto's laneway suites are about to stage a global takeover in quite the same way, but some 11 years later, I do think it's following the same arc of desirability. The things we desire aren't as enshrined as they may seem.
Cover photo by Nikhil Mitra on Unsplash
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