When Taiwanese actress 蕾菈 announced she had been searching for months to rent an apartment at NT$80,000 (approximately US$2,450) per month without success, the story quickly went viral—not just for the eye-watering budget, but for the two seemingly simple conditions she listed that allegedly caused landlords to reject her application outright. What began as a celebrity real estate woe shared on social media has since ignited a broader conversation about Taiwan’s deeply dysfunctional rental market, where soaring prices, opaque landlord preferences, and a cultural bias toward homeownership are pushing even financially secure tenants to the brink. This isn’t merely about one actress’s struggle to identify a place to live. it’s a symptom of a housing ecosystem that has long favored owners over renters, leaving a growing segment of the population—particularly young professionals and expatriates—in a state of perpetual uncertainty.
The nut of the matter lies in the two conditions 蕾菈 disclosed: a refusal to accept properties with “cooking restrictions” and a demand for lease terms of at least two years. To many landlords, these requests are not reasonable preferences but red flags signaling potential wear and tear, liability concerns, or inflexibility. In Taiwan’s rental landscape, where short-term leases and strict limitations on cooking (often to prevent oil stains or odors) are nearly universal, such demands are routinely viewed as dealbreakers. Yet this dynamic reveals a deeper imbalance: tenants are expected to absorb all the risk and inconvenience, while landlords operate with near-total discretion, backed by legal frameworks that heavily favor property owners. The result is a market where even those willing and able to pay premium rents find themselves excluded—not since they can’t afford it, but because they refuse to surrender basic aspects of domestic life.
To understand how Taiwan arrived at this point, one must look beyond individual listings to the structural forces shaping housing policy over the past three decades. Unlike many Western European nations where rental protections are robust and long-term leasing is normalized, Taiwan’s housing strategy has consistently prioritized homeownership as a cornerstone of social stability. Policies such as the Land Tax Act, which offers significant deductions for owner-occupiers, and subsidies for first-time buyers have incentivized purchase over rent, while rental regulations remain fragmented and weakly enforced. According to data from the Directorate-General of Budget, Accounting and Statistics (DGBAS), the homeownership rate in Taiwan hovered around 84% in 2023—among the highest in the developed world—while rental vacancy rates in major cities like Taipei and Taichung consistently stayed below 2%, indicating a severe shortage of available units relative to demand.
This imbalance has been exacerbated by speculative investment in residential real estate, particularly following the global liquidity surge of the early 2020s. Low interest rates and abundant capital drove both domestic and foreign investors to acquire rental properties not for long-term yield, but as vehicles for appreciation—often leaving units vacant or converting them to short-term tourist rentals via platforms like Airbnb. A 2024 study by the Taiwan Institute of Economic Research found that nearly 18% of residential units in Taipei’s Daan and Xinyi districts were either unoccupied or used exclusively for short-term stays, effectively removing them from the long-term rental pool. As one urban planning professor at National Taiwan University explained in a recent interview, “We’ve created a system where housing is treated primarily as a financial asset, not a social good. The consequence is that tenants—regardless of income—are left navigating a market designed to exclude them unless they conform to outdated, owner-centric expectations.”
“The rental market in Taiwan isn’t broken—it’s working exactly as it was designed to: to protect property values and discourage long-term tenancy. What we’re seeing now is the logical endpoint of decades of policy that treated shelter as a commodity rather than a right.”
— Dr. Lin Mei-hung, Professor of Urban Development, National Chengchi University
The human cost of this approach is becoming increasingly visible. Beyond celebrities like 蕾菈, young professionals in their late 20s and 30s—many earning stable salaries in tech, finance, or creative industries—are reporting similar frustrations. Online forums such as Dcard and PTT are filled with anecdotes of tenants being rejected for having pets, cooking frequently, or requesting leases longer than one year, despite offering to pay several months’ rent upfront or provide additional deposits. In some cases, landlords have even requested proof of marital status or family background, practices that, while not explicitly illegal, skirt the edges of fair housing principles. These barriers are not merely inconvenient; they force tenants into a cycle of constant relocation, undermining their ability to build community, pursue long-term career goals, or feel settled in their own lives.
Internationally, Taiwan’s rental model stands in stark contrast to peers facing similar urban pressures. In Germany, for instance, strong tenant protections include limits on rent increases, indefinite lease renewals, and strict regulations on eviction—policies that have contributed to a rental sector where over 50% of households choose to lease, not buy. Even in neighboring Japan, where homeownership remains culturally significant, recent reforms have introduced subsidies for long-term rentals and stricter guidelines against discriminatory tenant screening. Taiwan, by comparison, lacks a unified national rental law; instead, tenancy rights are governed by a patchwork of civil code provisions and local ordinances that vary widely in enforcement. The absence of a security deposit guarantee scheme—common in countries like Canada and the UK—further shifts financial risk onto tenants, who must absorb potential losses from disputes over wear and tear or early termination.
Yet Notice signs of change. Housing advocacy groups such as the Taiwan Tenants Union and the Homemakers United Foundation have begun lobbying for reforms, including the introduction of a standardized rental contract, caps on security deposits, and incentives for landlords who offer long-term, unfurnished leases. In early 2025, the Legislative Yuan heard testimony on a proposed Residential Tenancy Act that would, among other things, prohibit landlords from rejecting tenants based on lifestyle choices like cooking habits or pet ownership—provided they do not cause demonstrable damage. While the bill has not yet advanced, its introduction signals growing recognition that the current system is unsustainable. As one housing policy analyst at the Taiwan Competitiveness Forum noted, “If Taiwan wants to remain competitive in attracting global talent—especially in sectors like semiconductors and green energy—it needs a housing market that doesn’t treat every tenant as a temporary liability.”
“We’re not asking to dismantle the market for homeowners. We’re asking for a rental sector that doesn’t force people to choose between having a home and living like a human being.”
— Chen Wei-lun, Policy Director, Taiwan Tenants Union
The takeaway from 蕾菈’s experience is not that celebrities face unique hardships, but that her struggle mirrors a quiet crisis affecting hundreds of thousands of ordinary renters. When someone with a NT$80,000 monthly budget cannot find a place to cook a meal or sign a two-year lease, the problem isn’t affordability—it’s design. Taiwan’s housing ecosystem has been meticulously calibrated to protect property values and facilitate ownership, but at the expense of dignity, stability, and choice for those who rent. Fixing this won’t require abolishing the cultural preference for homeownership—it will demand reimagining rental housing not as a temporary compromise, but as a legitimate, respected long-term option. Until then, stories like hers will keep surfacing—not as gossip, but as warnings from a market that has forgotten how to serve the people who live in it.
What would it take for Taiwan to build a rental market where tenants aren’t screened for their lifestyles, but welcomed for their reliability? And if we continue to treat housing as an investment first and a home second, who exactly are we building these cities for?
