A look at the barrage of recent articles about how millennials can buy a home on a modest income reveals how unhealthy these pieces – and the expectations around them – really are

Life in the modern world is hard. Even without all the Nazis and climate change, there are still countless things to pile on the stress. Obviously, those of us in the first world have it much better than those elsewhere; our lives aren’t one long gruelling struggle for survival, we have things very easy on that front. But that’s not quite how the brain works. Our normal lives, no matter how objectively privileged they may be from an outside perspective, provide the “baseline” for our expectations, and stress is experienced by things that challenge or disrupt that. As a result, while we may never have to worry about where the next glass of clean water is coming from, we still have a plethora of psychological stressors to choose from, many of which stem from the demands and expectations of the society around us.

One modern societal pressure, in the UK at least, is that of owning property. It’s supposedly the done thing, buying a house or whatever, and often with a view to making a profit on it later, so much so that, in London particularly, people’s homes can earn more than they do. However, in recent years this expectation has been hit by countless obstacles, many of which have culminated in younger people simply not buying homes. This, obviously, threatens the status quo, which is something those with power and influence would rather avoid.

As a result, we regularly see articles explaining how it is possible to be young and still afford a home. Again and again and again and again. And if it’s not that, it’s ridiculous claims as to the reason why younger people aren’t buying homes; it’s not depressed wages, ridiculous disparity between prices and average incomes, or economic downturns, it’s sandwiches and avocado toast! Of course! Stupid youngsters.

However, from a scientific perspective, this approach is seriously flawed. At best it’s comically naïve, at worst it’s something quite sinister.

To explain this, let’s take another societal pressure: the expectation to be slim. People (particularly women) can experience persistent pressure to be thin, or lose weight if they aren’t already. So, if there’s an option that allows us to achieve this with minimum effort, many will leap at the chance to take it. And that’s why there are so many weight loss products and supplements and fad diets out there.

Now, consider the following scenario. A study is conducted on the effects of a new diet pill. 200 subjects took the pill every day for a month, and at the end of it 163 of them had lost a significant amount of weight. The obvious conclusion is that this diet pill is very effective. Indeed, many media reports declare it so, demand for it skyrockets, countless crude internet ads start offering it for cheap, and so on. Makes sense; a quick and effective diet pill is something many people would want.

However, on closer inspection of the study, all is not what it seems. Of the 163 people who had experienced significant weight loss, all of them had started some sort of intensive gym or dieting regime at the start of the study. Wouldn’t that be the more likely cause of the weight loss? Of course.

This would be what we call an extraneous variable: something that occurs beyond the focus of the experiment that still influences the outcome. In this case, the experiment is looking at the subject’s pill consumption and any changes in weight (the independent and dependant variables, respectively). They’re not looking at whether the subjects are dieting or exercising more, but the fact that they are would clearly affect the results.

If you’d spent a lot of money on the pills and found this out later, you’d probably be pretty annoyed. At best those running the study and reporting it were alarmingly clueless, at worst they were actively manipulative, lying by omission for financial gain.

Without casting (potentially libellous) aspersions on those who commission them, most of these articles explaining “how to afford a house in your twenties” eventually reveal extraneous variables of your own. The supposed point of these pieces, going by the usual titles, is to explain how it is possible to be a young person, earning average wages (independent variable), and still afford property (dependant variable).

However, almost every one you read eventually includes phrases like “… my savings, along with an inheritance” or “on top of some financial help from my parents” or “I was able to save my wages by living at home with my parents for three years” or an article titled “How I bought a house in London on £36,000 a year”, which ends with the admission that they actually bought part of a flat, and even then with some good luck.

What’s the point of these articles? Presumably, going by the tone and headlines, it’s to show that it is possible for young people to buy homes with normal wages in the present economy, if only they’d wise up and do it right. But in almost every example that crops up, that’s not what’s happening. It’s young people affording homes in the present economy with typical wages and a lot of help. Unless this help is available to everyone (which it certainly isn’t), the entire argument is meaningless. It’s saying “This diet pill works, as long as you spend five hours in the gym every day.” If you have to add that second part, it clearly doesn’t work.

What’s troubling is the way in which these sources of financial help, these “extraneous variables”, are so subtly included. The title screams ”FINANCIALLY SENSIBLE YOUNG PERSON!” while the caveat “…with rich and supportive parents” is briefly mentioned several paragraphs in.

Why would this approach be used? Is it a motivational thing, stretching the truth somewhat to give younger people a sense of optimism? Is it a consequence of the way our brains struggle to empathise with anyone worse off than ourselves? This would maybe mean that those with good fortune and support can’t really recognise that others don’t have it and therefore don’t mention it?

Or, is it the result of a power-structure based on property-inflated wealth? One which owns much of the media, where those involved can see the foundations of their world crumbling. And, rather than make drastic changes that involve much self-sacrifice, are instead trying to shift the blame on the younger generation who are stuck dealing with the consequences of their greed, and desperately cherry picking for any examples, however tenuous, that support this argument? It’s basically the real-estate equivalent of snake oil.

I wouldn’t know, of course. I’m in my 30s; I’m too busy eating sandwiches.

Dean Burnett’s book The Idiot Brain is available now, in the UK and US and elsewhere.