By now, you’ve probably seen them on Instagram. Those who swapped the hustle and bustle of city life for mountain views, fresh powder, and the promise of a slower life. It was a dream for a while.
But what happens when too many follow the same dream and it’s not meant to hold them?
Welcome to Crested Butte, Colorado, the once sleepy ski town now in the midst of a housing crisis no one anticipated this early. It’s heartbreaking, residents say. Inevitable, some argue. But no one denies that something real has changed.
And the villains? They are not what is anticipated.
From Burnout to Butte
Tyler Rogers and Bella McGoldrick were part of the so-called “Zoom boom.” Liberated from their New York City commutes in the pandemic, they were among the thousands of remote workers who exchanged urban living for something more scenic.
Meena Duerson, Vice News reporter, interviewed the couple.
“When the pandemic hit, everything was online, so we could work from anywhere,” said Rogers, a product designer. “Honestly, I was just so burned out from the New York pace, came out here to ski, and just fell in love with it.”
It was meant to be temporary. A ski season getaway. And then the real estate ads came out, and the real chance that they might get to stay. “Next thing I know, I offered on one,” Rogers said, with a shrug like even he can’t believe how quickly paradise went permanent.
But if paradise was being bought, who was being driven out?
“I Am the Problem”
Artist Bella McGoldrick is familiar with the uncomfortable reality.
“You speak with a lot of locals and they’re kind of talking about what’s happening with the changes, and I’m always like, ‘Oh. That’s me,’” she said. “It’s a fairly weird place to be in, to be aware of what’s happening, and to be what is kind of the problem, I guess, in people’s minds.”
The problem? Simple math. A finite community of houses is suddenly flooded with affluent outsiders who don’t necessarily need to work here and can afford the premium. That stresses the system, especially those already present, working, and struggling.
“There isn’t a rental room or a space for [locals] to own,” Rogers admitted. “People are just afraid this little place will become something they don’t know.”
A Million-Dollar Market That’s Priced Locals Out
Paul Brown moved to Crested Butte in 2008 and now works as a realtor. He has had a front-row seat with which to watch the regional housing market shift from costly to nearly unaffordable.
“The median home price in Crested Butte in 2020 hit a million dollars,” Brown said. That is up 38% from a year earlier.
That would be disturbing anywhere. But here, where the inventory is generally low and seasonal renting is the standard, it’s a disaster. Long-term renting? Virtually zero.
And not just remote workers. Switching to short-term vacation rentals proved to be a much more lucrative venture for many landlords. Others sold to out-of-staters in the market for second or third homes, which many of them keep vacant for most of the year.
Brown acknowledges he’s making money off the boom. “This is good business for me,” he said. But even he acknowledges that it comes at a cost. “Every house that I take off the active market makes it worse,” he conceded. “It could end up costing me the roof over my head.”
Residents Couch Surf, Sleep in Cars, and Prepare for Winter
While newcomers savor espresso in refurbished A-frames, old-timers struggle to afford a roof over their heads.
David Steffen, a cook at the popular neighborhood restaurant, was recently evicted from his apartment after his lease was not extended. He now lives in his truck. “Do I consider myself homeless?” he answered. “Sort of. I don’t have a home. I’ve got a car.”
That’s a car in which he also sleeps, cooks, and stores all of his belongings. “There are some places coming up, but they aren’t even affordable,” he said. “Most of the time, there’s just nothing to rent.”
And winter is ever waiting. “You can couch surf and sleep in your car only for so long,” Brown said. “When winter rolls around, it’s not even an option.”
The Town Declares an Emergency
In June, Crested Butte officials did something they’d never done before: They declared an affordable housing emergency. And they meant it.
The town has since implemented a moratorium on new short-term rentals, bought a bed-and-breakfast to be converted into worker housing, and even legalized camping on private property so seasonal workers can sleep in vans or tents legally.
They’re also suggesting a ballot initiative to tax vacation homes. That aspect, however, has opened up a whole new can of worms.
The Rich Strike Back
“Second homeowners are your neighbors,” added Robert Johnson, a local second homeowner. “A tax that second homeowners pay but can’t vote for is contentious.”
A second-home owner, Alex Gruzen, was not as subtle with the characterization: “There’s a tone now that’s reminiscent of the French Revolution. It’s got this ‘eat the rich’ mentality.”
That thought isn’t pleasing to Bob Kauffman, a well-heeled resident who claims to give back. “My wife and I donate to 14 charities here,” he said. “This would definitely affect our donations.”
That is, beware of what you tax.
One businesswoman experiments with a new method. Kylina Falzone owns two of the town’s most popular restaurants. And like most bosses in the town, she’s facing an existential crisis: no workers, no business.
“Everybody wants to be open seven days a week, but it’s just so difficult without employees,” she said. “There’s help wanted signs in every window.”
Why? Because her employees can’t afford to live in the neighborhood. They’re camping out in tents, vans, or couches. So Falzone did something revolutionary: she started renting out rooms to her employees and even began building houses just for them.
“I could be making $2,800 a month on those homes,” she said. “But we rent them out for $1,500. We subsidize them so that people can live here.”
Falzone doesn’t shy away from gray areas. Sure, she has short-term rentals. Sure, she profits from them. But she insists it isn’t black and white.
“Not all that we do can be philanthropic,” she replied. “I need to make money so that I can pay for things that are good for locals. When I can, I will. When I have to earn money, I have to.”
She’s also fighting against the aggression of the newcomers.
“There is bitterness here,” she admitted. “But no one owns Crested Butte. It should be open to many people from all over the world to use.”
But for people like David Steffen, who love the area but are being priced out, these are empty words.
“If there’s nowhere to live, there’s nobody to work,” Steffen said.
“There are a lot of people who notice it, but there are a lot of people who don’t want to do anything about it,” and added, “If I can’t find somewhere to stay, I have to go. That’s all there is to it.”
What’s Left
Crested Butte, the town on the edge, growing, yes, but disintegrating in slow motion, too. Some call it evolution. Other folks call it betrayal.
Locals see visitors with laptops and holiday houses and their own children are unable to find a place to rent. Companies have no one to hire, employees have no place to stay, and the town has no way of balancing growth and character.
“The town’s on a treadmill at this point,” Steffen said. “It’s just maxed out. I don’t know how long it can go at this pace before it just drops off.”
For now, Crested Butte is still scenic. The snow keeps falling, the mountains keep towering, and Instagram accounts keep filling up with sunsets and charcuterie boards on deck with a view.
But the question resounds louder with every passing season: Paradise for whom?
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