Rent my life

Hannah Betts dives into the sharing economy – rented handbags, hired friends and all

Dresses, dogs, lawnmowers, camping gear and, yes, even friends… These days everything’s for hire. But while once the preserve of millennials, it’s midlifers who are now renting up a storm. So what’s the appeal? Hiring novice Hannah Betts, 48, finds out. Photography by Benjamin Mcmahon

AMonday night in Mayfair and I am cowering in a doorway, sheltering a diminutive bundle from the rain. Look fleetingly, and you might imagine that I’m shielding a baby under my coat; look closely, and you will see that it is actually a small Chloé bag, embroidered with prancing horses. My face and hair may be drenched, but my arm candy remains unsullied. ‘Lady, you must really love your handbag,’ proffers a passing youth. ‘I do, yes! Only it’s not mine, it’s rented, so I must guard it with my life,’ I reply, before wrapping a cashmere scarf around it and making a run for a cab.

The sharing economy is booming and set to hit £255 billion by 2025. These days we’re hiring everything: jewellery, watches, art, garden tools, furniture, toys, even dogs to walk. And although it was once a millennial phenomenon, now it is oldsters such as myself who are hiring up a storm.

The number of millennials using sharingeconomy services dropped by 14 per cent, while the number among baby boomers rose by five per cent between 2017 and 2019, according to a report by insurance firm Alli- anz Global Assistance.

This is partly down to the age-old pattern: the young set a trend and the older genera- tion appropriate it. But there’s another reason for the switch: hiring high-end wares can be relatively expensive, so it’s midlifers who are able to afford it. Sure, my Chloé trophy bag can be rented for £99 a month. But add that up and it totals £1,188 per year, along with the £250 holding fee on joining, so only the flushest millennials and Generation Zers will be able to afford it.

Midlifers have other reasons for hiring too. Fleur Mccrone, 43, a stylist, uses fashion rental services to attend special events. She recently paid £157 to loan a £1,000 Mother of Pearl gown from My Wardrobe HQ to attend a party. ‘Because I’m a stylist, I’m expected to look the part,’ she says. ‘It’s so exciting to have access to clothes that I previously was unable to afford. And the sustainability aspect feels really important, too.’

Another draw for midlifers is the freedom that comes with renting, which appeals to empty-nesters, such as my fashion-forward friend Jay, 63, who works in PR and refers to her clothes-rental habit as ‘contained frivolity’. ‘It provides a safe space in which to experiment, with no huge outlays and – literally – no baggage,’ she says. ‘One gets phobic about amassing more stuff in one’s 60s. Plus, my grandchildren have given me landfill guilt.’

Joe Mcdonnell, from trend forecasters WGSN, points out that renting also permits a more minimalist life – a magnet for Generation Xers (typically aged 40-55). ‘Gen X’s love of a decluttered, Marie Kondo-esque lifestyle chimes perfectly with rental consumption models,’ he says. ‘When it comes to renting high-value accessories like shoes and handbags, Gen X is the primary customer. Innovative consumption models are not just for fashion; furniture and lifestyle products for hire are perfect for the Gen X consumer, who wants it all at the right price and convenience. We’re forecasting this model to grow, advising brands to move fast to keep up.’

According to Trend Bible’s Naomi Pollard, the boom in renting is also down to a wider shift in the way we all live. ‘The sharing economy was kick-started by two major events: the financial crisis of 2007, when ownership began to look less of a route to happiness, and the rise of personal technology, with app culture linking individuals into much bigger networks,’ she says.

‘Over the past decade, we’ve realised that ownership is not the only, or even the best way of achieving the lifestyle we want. Most people associate the sharing economy with young urban millennials – the Uber generation. However, when we look at midlifers and baby boomers, the trend towards renting is very much part of a bigger mindset shift.’

At 48, my sharing-economy toe-dipping has been fairly basic. I am a devoted user of Airbnb for holidays, and my partner and I hire rather than own a car for eco (and ‘can’t be bothered’) reasons. Other than this, I’ve never rented anything other than a DVD from Blockbuster, back in the day.

In zeitgeist terms, I am clearly being left behind, as a whole world of opportunity beckons. So I resolve to rent my life for a week – or much of it, being as yet too English to hire cuddles. (This is actually a thing; UK company Cuddle Professionals International offers diploma courses in it.) I decide that my weekly needs will encompass bags, shoes, jewellery and clothes, a rented dog for my dog to play with, a rented friend for me to go to a party with, plus an item of household equipment to placate my partner.

I kick off with the fun stuff: bags from ‘handbag hotline’ Cocoon (cocoonclub. co.uk), which offers everything from the latest Bottega Veneta pouch to vintage Chanels. I choose the aforementioned Chloé for daytime, and a coruscating Paco Rabanne Comet 1969 Iconic for night. Cocoon’s operation is sleek and efficient, even for a tech-resistant old codger like me. I join, click on my chosen wares, pay my fee and, behold, they arrive on a bike. ‘My’ beloved Chloé is my constant companion, while the Paco Rabanne is a showstopper over cocktails at Claridge’s.

A month with the dernier cri in arm candy is pure joy – but would simply borrowing them be enough? When I love things, I long to hang on to them. Indeed, seconds after ordering the Chloé number, I find myself buying a vintage clutch version of it from Vestiaire Collective. Also, I’m not sure old battleaxes such as myself are as obsessed with following fashion so religiously by brandishing the latest killer accessory? ‘Maybe not,’ agrees my 40-something pal Laura, ‘but I’d do it to add shazam to a well-worn outfit, or pull out the big guns at a job interview.’

Next stop is My Wardrobe HQ for designer togs. This is sustainability at its most fabulously glamorous. The theory is that fashionistas will use the service to store – and make money from – garb they’re no longer wearing. Customers can rent (or buy) 3,500 items from the wardrobes of influencers such as models Poppy Delevingne and Arizona Muse, and from the closets of an army of Gen Xers with straining drawers.

I find its Net-a-porter-style website a little overwhelming, albeit the ability to search by size is useful for those of us not of Delevingne proportions. My Wardrobe HQ also has a boutique in Brompton Cross, south-west London – an Aladdin’s cave of the world’s most fantastic frocks, bags and heels from £4 a day.

I arrive rigid with stress and emerge euphoric. The store is full of top-notch partywear. Brides and wedding guests are advised to check out its hats and headpieces; magpies are spoilt for choice with a cracking jewellery selection. Were I single, I’d snap up the £265-a-week, vast, heart-shaped Chanel bag (RRP £2,500) to stun potential lovers. Should you decide to buy this bag at the end of the week, your hire fee will be knocked off the price.

Renters only pay for what they actually wear (and are refunded for unworn items returned within 24 hours), so I assemble a week’s worth of outfits, including a stash of heels (Louboutin, £75 per week), and the glitter Gucci loafers I’ve hankered after (£87). For day, I score myself a navy Bozena Jankowska blouse (£43.70), purple Chinti & Parker trousers (£50), and an emerald Amanda Wakeley jacket (£94), to be worn with green and purple Akong rings (£35 each). For evening, I select a sculptural Wakeley little black dress (£144) and a blush-pink Temperley gown (£307) because, well, you never know.

I debut my green and purple look for a meeting with a terrifying executive, who sniffs approvingly. I plan to slip into the LBD for a party, but end up feeling dwarfed, thus falling back on one of my own frocks. The Gucci loafers are difficult to walk in – albeit Insta-tastic. The blush gown I wear nightly in my bedroom, twirling like the giant middle-aged fairy I am. The clothes are so lovingly kept, it doesn’t even occur to me they’re someone else’s – until, sob, it’s time to say farewell.

I’m more reticent about the next stage of my challenge: hiring a pal via Rentafriend (rentafriend.com), something that feels far weirder than borrowing clothes. The company, which was founded in America in 2009, lists more than 600,000 ‘friends for hire’ around the world, with the UK being the third most popular market (it’s currently hiring). The site is responsible for 100,000 meet-ups a year, with the average hourly rate being £8-£15, and more for formal occasions. The company makes its money by charging renters a fee of £20 per month, or £54 a year. A fifth of its users are in the 40-plus bracket.

Some of the aspiring candidates have posted photographs of themselves shirtless. However, the site stresses that it is ‘strictly platonic’. Many of the ‘friends’ are hired as plus-ones to take to formal work occasions (often by busy managerial types). One 41-year-old British ‘friend’, who is registered on the site, tells me that he was recently paid £20 for two hours to attend a professional conference with a ‘nervous gentleman’ who felt uncomfortable in groups and wanted a familiar face in the room. So successful was this jaunt that they plan to do it again.

I seek out someone to accompany me to a friend’s bash and settle on 56-year-old Mark Lisseman, an east London actor, who turns out to be charm itself. For £35 an hour, he agrees to accompany me to the party. I feel a bit nauseous while waiting for him, but instantly warm to him; he’s a friendly chap, dashing and vaguely familiar. (Turns out he appeared in advertisements for Lumen, an over-50s dating app.) My friends adore him, declaring him ‘handsome’ and a ‘good listener’, to the extent that he’ll clearly be receiving invitations in his own right.

As a woman of a certain (dog-daffy) age, my next challenge – hound renting – is the highlight, although you cannot just instantly acquire one, oh no. Despite men calling to request puppies for their girlfriends’ birthdays, the website Borrowmydoggy, which has more than one million members across the UK and Ireland, is all about building relationships in order that a lender can trust you with their beloved mutt. As a dog-owner myself (to Pimlico, a whippet), I heartily approve. It’s not too pricy, either. Annual memberships are set at £44.99 for owners and £12.99 for borrowers (includes insurance and access to a 24/7 vet line). Everyone I talk to – borrowers and lenders – is ecstatic about the arrangement.

I fall for seven-month-old working retriever Digby, a beautiful boy, all burnished-gold bounce, who gives Pimlico the run of her young life across Battersea Park. Digby’s owner, 23-year-old Amalia Corbett, works for the business. Before she had Digby, she spent five years walking other people’s dogs via the site to work out whether she was ready to commit to her own. She also credits dog borrowing with curing her shyness. After a joyous afternoon kissing Digby, I’m sold and ready to sign up.

My final rental of the week is one for my other half. Household items are a stalwart of the sharing economy, be it renting laptops from tech websites, toys from Whirli (for chests full of children’s games), or complete suites of furniture from website instyledirect.com. I consider renting a ping-pong table (£250, including delivery, from topspintt.com), but our flat feels stuffed to the gills. So I settle for garden equipment – a roller from Homebase (homebase.hirestation.co.uk) – as my partner is a grass fetishist. He is delighted by his boy-toy, informing me that it is the ‘real rental deal’ (£12.19 a day, plus £10 delivery).

Academics suggest that the sharing economy may make us lonely, buoyed up by superficial rather than genuine relationships. I found the reverse, as my new best friends at Borrowmydoggy can testify. Plus, it can be a real high. As gallery director (and fellow My Wardrobe HQ fan) Fiona Amitai enthuses: ‘It really is the most wonderful thing. For a start, you’re saving the environment. Secondly, it makes life so easy. And it’s fun – it brings a quintessential freedom.’

By the end of the week, I’m a convert. My rentals have all been triumphs, but I’m flagging. Renting promises to be convenient, yet it’s also exhausting – the logistics of coordinating deliveries and returns, all of the calls and emails, require a spreadsheet or PA.

Still, with the rental sector ever-expanding and the planet ever-more in crisis, we midlifers are going to have to suck up any irritation for the greater good. Going forward, property won’t be theft exactly, but it will feel unfashionably anachronistic.

After a joyous afternoon kissing Digby, I’m sold and ready to sign up