The Eleventh-Hour Decorator
By Eileen Daspin
Staff Reporter of the Wall Street Journal

Removing Dog Hairs, Hiding Stains, These Design Pros Help Homes Sell Faster

Before putting their home on the market in June, David and Barbera Crossen knew the three-story 1930 townhouse had the markings of a hot property. With it's unusual architectural detailing, hardwood floors, garden and prestigious address, the house was the epitome of San Francisco style. Except for a few minor matters: dog hairs, mismatched furniture and an overall interior design that Mr. Crossen describes as "ex-college student."

Enter Arthur McGlaughlin, a member of a little-known but growing breed of professionals paid to enhance a home's marketability. They are the "fluffers," interior decorators who not only fluff the sofa pillows but also point out lapses in taste and cleanliness that could impede a sale. They decide which heirlooms have to go and what to do with knickknacks from the Nixon era. They determine what to paint and what to strip. Catering to to the spatially challenged, some of the 11th-hour decorators bring in furniture of their own and will even fill an empty house, down to the linens and silver.

Mr. McGlaughlin, who calls himself a "resale decorator," quickly determines that two years of wear and tear had taken their toll on the Crossens' home. A jumble of mix-matched furniture, stacks of books and a lot of paintings were part of the problem. Then there were the Crossens' two dogs, who had lived in the house "footloose and fancy-free," as Mr. Crossen put it.

he hauled in plants, furniture, rugs and "object d'art" from his 10,000-square-foot warehouse, creating, for a $30,000 fee, a final look that was "lush and impressive," Mr. Crossen says. The buyers thought so, too. They paid $300,000 over the $2.2 million asking price.

The rich have used decorators in this way for years, typically referring to them by the stuffier title of "stagers." But now the trend is catching on with middle-class homeowners looking to make a quick sale - especially as the real estate market appears to be slowing down in some areas. And though to an outsider a luffer might appear to offer no more than common sense with a price tag attached, experienced real-estate brokers and homeowners swear these decorators can speed up sales and bump up prices.

A $20,000 Fluff

Barbera and William Gagnon of North Tustin, Calif., for example, are hoping that a $20,000 Fluff by decorator Patricia MacDonald will do what their home's own charms - including a panoramic view of Catalina Island, a rose garden and a swimming pool with spa - have been unable to to do since 1996: attract a committed buyer with $1.3 million. Over three weeks recently, Ms. MacDonald ordered the Gagnons' carpets cleaned and walls painted; she dressed up a stained sectional with throw pillows, shirred bedroom walls in king-size sheets, and rearranged the couples own furniture in snappy new configurations.

Mrs. Gagnon says she "was amazed at the results," which she says weren't "matchy-matchy" or "costly-costly." The Gagnons, who put their house back on the market in late summer, say they are now feeling optimistic because they have received one offer and plenty of compliments.

While Ms. MacDonald relies primarily on discount and outlet shops fo her fluffing items, she also has a small inventory of her own props. Most fluffers do. Mr. McGlaughlin, the San Francisco decorator, has built up on of the largest storehouses in the business, boasting everything from celadon silk to damask sofas to fine china, linens and post-modern art. He shops at auctions and estate sales - he also does traditional decorating - and characterizes resale decorating as selling "lifestyle." When he was hired to primp the home of San Francisco's official chief of protocol, the former Charlotte Mailliard Swig - now married to George Schultz, the former secratary of state - he accessorized her bedroom by putting a few of her ball gowns on display.

Mr. McGlaughlin compares his efforts, which can take from a few hours to a few weeks, to auto commercials in which "everyone is tall and thin." Both marketing ploys present a version of reality, he says, that contradicts "the facts of life." While this last minute decorating plays fast and loose with aesthetics, it is no more or less ethical than car commercials. Home buyers aren't promised they will get to keep the fancy furnishings - though offers do get made om time to time - just as no intelligent consumer believes that the sexy actors in car ads really come with the sedan.

A very brief fluff is sometimes paid for by the real-estate broker, but usually the homeowner foots the bill. Most sellers who hire decorators of this sort concede that their properties probably would have sold without poffesional help but believe that an expert touch boosts prices by thousands of dollars.

The economics of 11th-hour decorating are catching on with the middle-class homeowners. Mary, Fotlas, a paralegal in New York, just hired a fluffer to spruce up a 700-square-foot apartment she has shared with her husband for eight years. The idea came fom her broker, Carmen Cook of Corcoran Group, a New York real-estate Brokerage, who worried about clutter and layout. "I thought, 'How am I going to sell this?'" remembers Ms. Cook, who often recommends such pre-sale spruce-ups.

For the Fotiases, four hours with Daniel De Siena resulted in a more spacious-looking, inviting home. Mr. De Siena suggested the couple wash curtains, wax floors and rearrange furniture, work the couple did on their own. They hired a contractor to cover the kitchen counters in marbleized contact paper, change light fixtures and paint the walls and closet interiors. The makeover of the one-bedroom apartment set the Fotiases back $3,500 but encouraged Ms. Cook to raise the listing $40,000, to $195,000 when it went on the market in late September.

"Friends of ours can't believe it's the same apartment," says Ms. Fotias, who so far has turned down one offer that was less than te asking price.

Bringing in a fluffer can have ancillary benefits, including minimizing tension between broker and homeowner. Brokers sometimes hesitate to criticize clients. "How do you tell someone with tons of Architectural Digests on the coffee table that they don't have good taste?" Ms. Cook says. She advises as delicately as possible that clients invest in some expert help.

Ms. Cook recalls recommending Mr. De Siena to a couple who had hung their living room windows, which overlooked a restaurant air-conditioning system, with massive red drapes. "You might as well have framed a dump," she says. The husband accepted the need for late-stage decorating help, but the wife absolutely refused. After five months on the market, the Manhattan apartment went for $275,000 - $50,000 under the asking price. "It would have gone faster if they'd taken advantage of Daniel or someone like him," says Ms. Cook.

Homeowners don't always go along with the proffered suggestions. Bruce Whipple, who spruces up properties fo New York's broker Jeff Sholeen, remembers proposing that a client transfer a treadmill out of his dining room and a television out of the living room. The client, a New York hedge-fund trader, resisted, claiming he was concerned about wiring. In fact, "he had a routine," says Mr. Whipple. "He got up in the morning and watched television from the treadmill. When his pattern was threatened, he felt threatened."

Later, when Mr. Whipple suggested removing two bikes hanging on the trader's bedroom wall, the client balked again. It took his wife, who backed Mr. Whipple's ideas, to strike a deal with her husband. "She said, 'You ge to keep the treadmill if I get to move the bikes'" to storage. The apartment went on the market in September, and already "a couple of people have asked if they could buy it furnished," says Mr. Sholeen, the broker.

Repositioning the furniture

Fluffing sometimes can be too effective. Mr. McGlaughlin recalls a whirlwind assignment that involved making over a 6,000-square-foot, $4.5 million mansion in just four days, while the owners were out of town. Deploying eight of his staff members, he painted hall shutters white and bedrooms pale yellow and repositioned almost every piece of furniture in the house. He converted the ballroom into a young-adult playroom, using it as a refuge for the owner's more severe works of modern art and filling it with 8-foot-tall plants, striped sofas and an amoire. He removed the Danish-modern furniture in the master bedroom and brought in a king-size bed with a fabric headboard, new side chairs and a coffee table. He recarpeted the second floor and increased lighting throughout the house.

How did the sale go? It didn't. When the owners returned, they were so thrilled with the results, they took the mansion off the market. "They said they'd never seen their house in that way," Says M. McGlaughlin, who was paid more than $20,000 and even sold the couple some of the props. Still, "It was horrible for the Realtor," he says. "Think of the Commission."

Reprinted from the Wall Street Journal.