Tear It Down, Build It Up

The first time I sat through a home improvement pitch, I already knew the script. I wasn’t just the customer—I had been the salesperson. For years, I worked in the remodeling industry, riding shotgun on sales calls where the goal wasn’t to provide a quote or do a friendly inspection. The goal was simple: get the signature. Everything else—the rapport, the compliments on your dog, the jokes about the weather—was a setup.

And you know what? Sometimes, it worked.

That’s what makes home renovation so tricky. The job might be necessary—your windows might leak, your shower might be a mold trap—but the process around it is rarely clean. It’s a strange mix of trust, urgency, charm, and money. And even when it goes well, there’s always that uneasy question: Did I make the right choice?

I’ve done my own remodeling since leaving the industry. Not just picked the paint, but peeled up the old floor. Replaced rotted subfloor. Learned the joy of mismatched screws and the smell of PVC glue at 2 a.m. And I’ll be honest—those DIY weekends have made me miss the convenience of just handing a job off. But they also reminded me why I stopped doing sales.

Here's how the game works: when a rep knocks on your door, they're not dropping by to see your bathroom. They're there to sell you a new one. First comes small talk. Then they find the weak spot—literally or emotionally. A crack in the tile, a draft in the kitchen, a memory of your kid slipping on a wet floor. Once they find it, the rest is easy. Inspection, presentation, price, promotion.

That “limited time” offer? It’s not limited. The “call to the boss” for a better deal? Often staged. Even the lifetime warranty might quietly expire after two years—buried deep in fine print that no one reads until something breaks.

Still, the people doing the selling aren’t villains. Most of them are good at what they do, and they care about their work. But there’s a tension built into the process—a race between your need for a fix and their need for a signature. If you blink, they win.

That’s not to say you shouldn’t remodel. Honestly, nothing beats the first hot shower in a brand-new space. (Assuming the hot water heater works. Mine didn’t for the first two days because the installer forgot to relight the pilot.) You learn to laugh. You learn to call the company. You learn to say, "Actually, this isn’t finished yet."

You also learn to ask better questions. What’s actually covered under warranty? Who really does the install? Are those subcontractors licensed? Will you provide permits? What happens if I wait a week to sign?

I’ve seen people spend $12,000 thinking they were getting a full renovation, only to realize later they bought acrylic panels over old tile. That isn’t always a bad solution, but it’s something you should choose—not something you should find out after the fact.

I once had a coworker, well into her sixties, get sold new windows, then new doors to match the energy seal, then attic insulation from a third-party inspector, then a water purification system to “improve her energy.” All of it financed. All of it overpriced. Once you’re in one company’s system, the others line up like sharks. Your data gets passed around, and the knock never stops.

Still, I get the appeal. Remodeling is seductive. The idea that you can transform a cracked, outdated room into something beautiful in just a few days? That’s hard to resist. Sometimes it even works out. I’ve seen people cry with joy after seeing their new kitchen. I’ve seen relief in someone’s eyes when they no longer had to navigate a cracked tub.

That’s the part no one tells you: remodeling is emotional. It’s about control. About reclaiming space. About putting things back together when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

And maybe that’s why we keep doing it—even when the process is frustrating, even when we know the pitch. We want the clean slate. The warm tile. The quiet pride of walking into a room and thinking, Yeah, this is mine. I fixed it.

Just don’t sign anything until you’ve gotten at least two more quotes. And read the contract.

Twice.