Brianna Parkins: In defence of Ireland’s McMansions

The 2022 census got a bit nosier than previous years. Like your Mam picking you up from a play date at your rich friend’s house, it asked “and how many bedrooms do they have in that house now?”

It turns out Donegal and Galway are our flashiest neighbours with the highest percentage of houses with five bedrooms or more in the country.

The national average was 8.6 per cent of homes containing five-plus bedrooms while Galway chalked up an impressive 15 per cent, causing it to earn the title as the McMansion capital of Ireland.

However, in defence of the Galwegians, a large home does not constitute a McMansion in itself.

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A McMansion usually has a functioning wet bar with some ridiculous neon vanity sign spelling out the family’s last name. They can have a jacuzzi on a raised platform in a bathroom that someone bought to “relax” in but never uses it because it’s too stressful to clean. They usually have a giant hallway with a two-storey window and some sort of deranged pendant chandelier light over a neck-breaking staircase, that no one really sees because everyone always comes in through the utility room at the back.

Then there is the large kitchens with a marble island in the middle so big it could petition the UN to become an independent nation. It won’t be used to prepare food, instead, it will become an oasis for junk that you couldn’t be bothered to put away. Permanently covered in lunch boxes, insurance reminders, work lanyards and spare shoelaces.

McMansions are what happens when adults remember they have free will and can build the house they’ve always wanted. It just so happens that people usually want mad-looking houses that resemble what a 12-year-old would build on the Sims video game if they had a cheat code. But good for them.

We like to scoff at McMansions because while other people have more money than us we like to think we would be much better at having it than them. As a little consolation to ourselves.

We would buy a two-up, two-down Victorian redbrick in a trendy Dublin suburb instead because we actually have taste. And the nasal fortitude to share just one bathroom with our a partner. A partner who leaves the bathroom with a smell that could be described as a war crime.

Taste is all about discomfort. It’s scratchy cotton and linen instead of velour. It’s muted greys, ochres and white. It’s spending a lot of money on your house but making it look like you didn’t. It’s a handmade wooden bench made by Scandinavian artisans that was expensive as it is uncomfortable over the welcoming embrace of a La-Z-Boy recliner with cup holders. It’s classic cars that don’t have power steering or air conditioning over a flashy SUV with seats that heat up your bum.

We tell ourselves that McMansions are for “new money”. It’s not enough to have a lot of money. You have to have had it for a long time. Somehow going out and earning it yourself in one generation is more frowned on than doing diddly squat other than being born to the right person and inheriting it all. Old money is considered better than new money, even if it is going slightly stale and in some cases, inbred.

Old money says buying antiques that no-one is allowed to touch is a sensible use of money. Buying a jet ski, however, is not. That’s gauche new money behaviour. But they are infinitely more fun. Just like McMansions.