Many are falling for the lure of Tiny Homes, such as this one from US company Tiny Heirlooms, but I can't see the appeal.

If you've spent any time whatsoever on social media in the past few years, chances are a Tiny House has crossed your path. They tend to be shared along with breathless comments to the tune of "That's it! I'm selling everything and building a Tiny House in the desert!"

Tiny Houses are everything to everyone: Pinterest fuel for the aspiring declutterer, an adorable way to play in your childhood cubby house forever, and an antidote to the McMansion hangover of the turn of the century.

Small houses can provide compelling alternatives to homelessness and urban density, but we're not talking about those. We're talking about the shiny, schmick versions of the idea; Tiny Houses as gee-whiz design blog fodder, hang the (often considerable) expense.

In an increasingly crowded "aspirational downsizing" market, however, Tiny Houses are now facing some competition from Tiny Apartments. (And here I was thinking all my previous apartments had been overpriced shoebox-sized bolt-holes; turns out they were just prototypical Tiny Apartments!)

READ MORE: * The tiny house movement

* What it's like living in a 14sqm tiny house



Until the day comes, however, Tiny Houses still offer a momentary diversion from the working day, if not a dazzling alternative to the ball-and-chain of the Kiwi dream and its quarter-acre block. If you're still in the thrall of the idea of a house that you can fit in a shipping container, here are five things to consider before taking the plunge.

Kitchen smells

If you've ever lived in a studio apartment, you'll know all too well the perils of cooking at home. You brown some mince for a bolognese sauce, only to go to bed five hours later and find a cloud of mince stink hovering over your bed like some visual gag from a Pepe Le Pew cartoon. If that's what happens in an apartment that you can do at least 12 lunges to cross, what would happen in a Tiny House?

It's literally tiny

How did you feel the last time, say during a spell in bed while ill, you had to stay for any length of time in your own bedroom? Terrible, right? Right. Re-read Suzanne Joinson's essay about the "loneliness and despair" of hotel rooms, and then consider this: you are about to move your entire life into a house the size of a hotel room. There's a very real possibility you will be pacing your Tiny House like a caged leopard (with your head stooped; see below) within a month of moving in.

No visitors, ever

Look, I'll admit that this may be appealing to those who like their space, but given "space" is a relative term in the Tiny House world, is it really worth the isolation that comes as a default because having more than 1.5 people in your house at any given time makes it feel like the cover of Hello Nasty?

Where's all your stuff?

It's true that a major appeal of the Tiny House movement is the opportunity to downsize. It's also true that we drag way too much "stuff" through our lives out of misguided nostalgia or indoctrinated consumerism. In a Tiny House, however, you really can only have two pairs of shoes and a single bread plate. What happens when you break that one wine glass? Where do you keep your tax receipts? How do you hide your online shopping purchases from your significant other? Where the hell did I put my spare keys?

Stooper's neck

My physio once told me that if I continued to hunch at my computer, he'd be able to rest a cup of coffee on the back of my neck within 20 years. Well, imagine what that Tiny House is doing to your posture! Some of the Tiny Houses I've seen in lovingly-photographed essays are small enough to make Kylie Minogue want to dip her head. Face it, you're going to end up walking around on your knees.

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