Neverdownism: when house prices become a matter of faith

Neverdownism: when housing becomes a matter of faith

There is a discussion that has repeated itself for years in any conversation about property: Spanish housing never goes down. It doesn't matter how many charts are shown, how much data piles up or how many crises are recalled. Anyone who argues otherwise ends up labelled a sectarian, an extremist or a doom-monger. And those who defend perpetual appreciation rarely step off their pedestal. The result is a wall: two trenches that don't listen to each other and accuse each other of holding the absolute truth.

The starting point of the frustration is concrete. Some people are tired of the fact that, after presenting arguments, the answer is always the same: property is an asset that can only appreciate, even if it rises well above inflation and for speculative reasons. In that narrative, a price correction does not exist. Never. And whoever mentions it is superfluous.

The diagnosis: oversimplification and trench warfare

The criticism is not just aimed at an opinion, but at a way of arguing. The defenders of neverdownism are described as lovers of oversimplification, even when they have a strong economics background. The accusation is that they turn a hypothesis — that property always rises — into an unquestionable axiom, and from there they dismiss anyone who disagrees.

On the other side, the response is just as forceful: it is not that dissenting views are rejected, it is that provocateurs are detected by their tone. A polite dissenter lays out their arguments and is respected; the one who comes to stir things up is spotted from a mile away. The line between debating and trolling gets blurred, and that is where the problem begins.

Is there a genetic explanation, or is it just stubbornness?

One of the most striking hypotheses being floated is that the difference is not ideological, but about wiring. People with similar education reach opposite conclusions when facing the same economic bubble. Some see three bubbles coexisting — interconnected and with their own negative consequences — and others see none. The genetic explanation sounds like a boutade, but it leaves an uncomfortable residue: if the disagreement is not about data but about perception, the debate is dead before it starts.

What is shared is the fatigue. The proposal not to reply to certain threads, not to feed those who are only looking for a fight, is gaining trinc. It is not a surrender: it is a tactical retreat. Not feeding the trolls — no replying, no taking the bait — is put forward as the only possible response when the conversation no longer seeks to understand, but to win.

The anecdote of the floor plan in the pocket

There are scenes that sum up the climate of the issue better than any chart. The one with the sales agent who, floor plan in hand, berates a tenant into buying now because prices are going to rise, and who leaves shouting when he is told to get lost. It is not an exception: it is the symptom of a market where the pressure to buy is exerted on the street, not in the data.

This kind of episode explains why the word cult appears in the conversation. The debate is not so much about whether housing goes up or down, but about why the discussion about it has become an act of faith. And while some ask not to reply, others keep waiting for the correction that never comes. The price, meanwhile, keeps its course.