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by Santiago Bonhomme, Queenstown resident

Calling Queenstown New Zealand’s tourism jewel is a well-worn cliché. An obvious truth, precise but dull. We all know it. Just look at a postcard, an Instagram feed, or any airport brochure. This town shines like a diamond under the southern sun: lakes, mountains, adventures, unique experiences.

Yet not everyone comes just to experience it. Many arrive to stay, or at least try. Drawn by the beauty and the promise of a different, freer, more natural life. There is work here, the myth goes. Opportunities, they say. But living in Queenstown today means risking everything. Literally.

Behind the bright signs lies another city: one where hundreds - young people, immigrants, families - share rooms, cars, or tents. And it’s not just backpackers. Families with small children live in a single room inside someone else’s home, sharing kitchens, bathrooms, and silences with strangers. Professionals with steady jobs unable to secure decent housing. Privacy - the minimal space to rest, raise kids, and think - has become a luxury.

Without privacy, there is no future. Privacy is not a whim, it’s a necessity. It’s the foundation to plan ahead, build relationships, and live with dignity. No privacy means no home. No home means no belonging.

According to the Queenstown Lakes Community Housing Trust, over 1400 households are waiting for affordable housing. Meanwhile, average rent exceeds $900 per week for a three-bedroom house, and many families settle for a single room at over $350 per week. Even with two or three jobs, many barely get by.

The worst part is this precariousness is normalised. It’s disguised as a temporary “experience.” It’s tolerated because it’s sold as something short-term. But I know people who have lived like this for years. I don’t see them happy or free. This is no choice - it’s resignation.

This hidden poverty won’t be solved by goodwill or seasonal campaigns. It’s structural. And as luxury tourism booms and property developments multiply, those who keep the town running - those who cook, clean, and care - are pushed further out.

So, what do we do? Recognising the problem is not enough: we must change course. Queenstown needs an ambitious, urgent housing policy, with direct government intervention and private responsibility. Real incentives for affordable rentals. Strong regulation on homes turned into hotels. Public funds for community housing projects.

This isn’t charity; it’s common sense. No city works when it pushes out those who make it possible. And if we don’t act soon, the risk isn’t losing the postcard: it’s losing the soul.