From Helpful to Hazard Pay: The Realities of Staging in Real Estate Photography

When I first started shooting real estate photography, I thought I was just there to take pictures. Snap a few shots, make a place look like it belonged in a magazine, and move on to the next listing. Easy, right?

Well, I quickly learned that "real estate photography" sometimes translates to "impromptu moving crew, cleaning service, and interior design consultant"—all in one.

The Slippery Slope of Goodwill

At first, I didn't mind helping out. Most agents were present during the shoot, shifting a pillow here, adjusting a lamp there—basic tweaks to make the photos pop. I didn’t charge extra for it because, hey, teamwork makes the dream work, right?

But then something strange started happening. The more business I got, the less I saw of the agents during shoots. It was like they had all quietly agreed that I was now the Staging Fairy, expected to wave a wand and make miracles happen.

One day, I walked into a house and was immediately greeted by towering stacks of boxes—not just a few, but what looked like a warehouse shipment. I ended up dragging those massive furniture boxes room to room just to get a clear shot of the space. It wasn’t easy work, and I definitely noticed that the agent, one Mr. E., who had been there when I arrived, was suddenly nowhere to be found. I had been abandoned to fend for myself in a battle against furniture.

The Biohazard Cleanup Special

Then came the listing that changed my life forever. The agent was actually present this time—rare sighting!—but the house? Oh, the house. It was a crime scene of bad hygiene and questionable life choices.

I started my usual staging routine, fluffing pillows, straightening chairs. Then, I pulled back a curtain and was greeted by, on the floor, used condoms and dirty underwear, which made me wonder if the property owner could read, or did they just not care?

I looked at the agent, the agent looked at me, and we both looked at the door—strongly considering just walking out.

Me: "Did you send them the prep list?"

Agent: "I did."

Me: "Did they read it?"

Agent: "Apparently not."

We spent the next half-hour disinfecting the room like we were on a CDC cleanup crew before I could even start shooting. At that moment, I realized I was in way too deep.

The Barber Shop Horror

Not long after, I was working with a realtor I’ll call Mrs. T., a great agent who actually stuck around during staging. Everything was going fine until we stepped into one particular room.

Turns out, the homeowner had been using it as a fully operational barbershop—complete with clippings of hair everywhere, half-empty bottles of styling products, and, let’s just say, an aroma that screamed “forgotten wet towel.”

I took one look at the mess, turned to Mrs. T., and said straight up, “I am NOT going to clean that, so we can just leave this room out of the photos.”

She laughed, but I wasn’t joking. And we left that room out of the photos! Team work...dream work my ASS!

The Garage Sale That Wasn't

On another memorable shoot, I walked into what I thought was an estate sale in progress. Every surface was covered in trinkets, figurines, framed photos, porcelain dolls staring into my soul—a full-blown museum of "stuff."

Me: "Uh, are you selling the house or the contents?

"Owner: "Oh, I wanted it to look nice!"

It took everything in me not to say, "Ma’am, it looks like a thrift store exploded."

We ended up putting EVERYTHING in the garage, and pantry. By the time I finished carefully moving and not breaking what felt like 400 fragile knick-knacks, I had another revelation: This needed to stop.

Introducing the “Excessive Staging Cost” Fee

That’s when I decided enough was enough. I revised my prep list to include a section labeled "Excessive Staging Cost:"—left blank for the agent to fill in. Not as a warning, but as a promise.

If I have to spend my morning lifting, hauling, scrubbing, or dodging biohazards, it’s going to cost you.

And you know what? The moment money entered the conversation, suddenly, houses were magically prepped before I arrived. Shocking how that works.

Lessons Learned

In a way, these experiences helped me tailor my prep-list and photography style, so I’m actually grateful for them. Every insane scenario, every disappearing agent, every questionable “why is this still here?” moment helped me refine my process and protect my time.

So, to my fellow photographers, let me give you this advice: be helpful, be professional—but don’t be a free cleaning and moving service. And to agents and homeowners: if you’re prepping a house for photos, please, for the love of all things good, follow the list.

Because if I have to touch another questionable item ever again… I’m doubling the fee.