Câmaras poderão vir a ter mais poderes no alojamento local
HOJE Discussào no Parlamento sobre o Alojamento Local!!
Só para dar uma ideia do desfasamento e passividade de
Portugal com o resto da Europa neste importantíssimo tema:
Enquanto em Portugal a AIRBNB publica artigos no Público em
que o Director Ibérico da AIRBNB faz explícitamente uma apologia da sua
profunda ‘colaboração’ com a CML em
Amsterdão, cidade onde a regra é de ocupaçào máxima de 60 dias ao ano [
para a AIRBNB e BOOKING ] e onde todos os partidos políticos querem reduzir
esta regra para 30 dias, a tendência é de fazer regredir o Alojamento Local à
sua verdadeira origem vinda da Economia de Partilha, ou seja, proíbir o aluguer
de edifícios completos e apartamentos geridos por gestores Imobiliários no Alojamento
Local. Apenas serão permitidos os alugueres de partes de casa, em alojamentos
onde o proprietário também reside e pernoita.
Perante esta imagem negativa a AIRBNB nomeou uma “special
manager”/ “public policy manager” ( Ver link / artigo em baixo no comentário )
para tentar melhorar a imagem da companhia que está profundamente enegrecida
junto da Opinião Pública. (O Valor da Companhia é de 26 bilhões de Euros,
superior portanto à cadeia de Hóteis Hilton).
OVOODOCORVO
Zij werkt bij Airbnb om met u en ons een relatie op te
bouwen
Interview Bo de Koning: 'Ik wil een stukje misperceptie
wegnemen dat over Airbnb bestaat'
Het imago van verhuurwebsite Airbnb verslechtert in zo'n rap
tempo, dat het bedrijf een speciale manager heeft aangesteld die het 'juiste
verhaal' moet vertellen: Bo de Koning. Dus Airbnb veroorzaakt geen overlast,
ontwricht de wijken niet, maakt Amsterdam niet drukker en drijft de
huizenprijzen niet op?
Door: Kaya Bouma Tjerk Gualthérie Van Weezel 5 januari 2018,
02:00
A Associação do Alojamento Local em Portugal (ALEP) manipula
os números sobre a actividade no Alojamento Local.
“O AL em Lisboa é feito por pequenos proprietários”, garante
Eduardo Miranda, que preside à ALEP. Os dados do Airbnb parecem confirmar isso
mesmo. Segundo um relatório apresentado em julho, 72% dos anfitriões de Lisboa
disponibilizam apenas uma propriedade. Os outros 28% poderão ser considerados
profissionais, já que anunciam mais do que uma casa.
. Os outros 28% poderão ser considerados profissionais, já
que anunciam mais do que uma casa. Mas os dados escondem uma realidade bem
diferente, alerta o ensaísta canadiano Tom Slee, crítico da autopropalada
“economia de partilha” e autor do livro “What’s Yours Is Mine” (o que é teu é
meu), publicado este ano. “O que não dizem é que 65% dos alojamentos que estão
no site são de anfitriões com múltiplas propriedades e recebem a mesma
proporção de visitas. Lisboa é uma das cidades com um perfil mais comercial”,
garante. E também é uma das que oferece melhor rentabilidade aos investidores.
Segundo a revista “Forbes”, que usa dados da empresa AirDNA — uma consultora
que analisa a informação do Airbnb —, a capital portuguesa é a 8ª cidade a
nível mundial onde é possível fazer mais dinheiro alugando um imóvel comparando
com o valor médio que se receberia por uma renda no mesmo apartamento: num
apartamento com uma renda média de 600 euros por mês, o aluguer a turistas pode
garantir um rendimento anual de 14 mil euros, quase o dobro.
http://expresso.sapo.pt/sociedade/2016-12-23-O-novo-fado--de-Lisboa
What’s Yours Is Mine: Against the
Sharing Economy by Tom Slee review – the problem with Airbnb and Uber
The most significant examples of what used to be called the
‘sharing economy’ are giant corporations pursuing monopoly power – what exactly
is being shared?
Steven Poole
Saturday 2 April 2016 07.30 BST Last modified on Wednesday
29 November 2017 10.48 GMT
‘Sharing” is one of the most rhetorically abused virtues of
the age. First we had the euphemism “file-sharing”, for duplicating and
uploading copies of albums or films to the internet. Well, you can’t share what
isn’t yours in the first place. (If I pilfer money from a bank and give it to
my friends, I might plead that I was just “money-sharing”, but I am more likely
to be convicted of robbery.) And now we supposedly have a “sharing economy”,
the most-often cited two examples of which – Uber and Airbnb – are giant
corporations pursuing monopoly power and fighting governments the world over.
What exactly is being shared here, and in whose interest?
The first “sharing economy” organisations allowed members to
timeshare things such as cars or power tools, rather than owning one each and
leaving it idle most of the time. In their purest form such groups were
“peer-to-peer”: self-organising, with no central authority. Once a for-profit
company is set up to handle the logistics – such as Zipcar – however, the
notion of “sharing” is arguably already out of the window. Still, there
remained the kernel of a communitarian idea in the origin of Airbnb, founded by
two tech workers who rented out airbeds in their spare rooms for a conference,
and thought there might be a market.
Airbnb’s marketing still plays on the feelings of virtuous
and adventurous sociability in the idea of a “guest” staying in a spare room of
the “host’s” home. Yet, as Tom Slee’s superbly argued book points out, the vast
majority of Airbnb’s business is now “entire home” rentals: self-contained
flats or villas. Long-term renters in cities such as San Francisco are being
forced out by landlords who see more profit in short-term Airbnb stays. Slee
performs some very clever data research and finds out that the most expensive
Airbnb apartment in Rome is one of several European luxury pads rented out by
an American tech entrepreneur, who bought them with the proceeds of the sale of
his last software company. The idea of “sharing” is as meaningless here as it
is in Uber’s made-up concept of “ride-sharing”, which sounds as ecologically
minded as “car-sharing” but actually describes a taxi service. Nor is any
“sharing” going on with companies such as TaskRabbit, in which people bid to
perform other people’s odd jobs.
What is explicitly not shared by any of the poster children
of the “sharing economy” is responsibility. When something goes horribly wrong
with an Airbnb or Uber transaction, the companies just say: “It wasn’t me.”
(The mega-corporation is purportedly neither buyer nor seller but innocent
middleman.) Slee has a brilliant chapter on how star-rating “reputation
systems” between users simply don’t work, because people feel bad about giving
low ratings even when they are amply deserved, so they all cluster between four
and five. Instead, trust has to be enforced by authoritarian surveillance and
discipline imposed by the company itself. Even so, the companies insist that
they are not even providing a service; the websites and apps are just a
“communications platform” to link buyers and sellers. (Even as they price-gouge
the sellers, with Uber taking increasingly large cuts of up to 30% of a fare.)
Nor, notoriously, does Uber consider its drivers to be employees to whom they
would owe responsibilities: they are instead “independent contractors”.
What all these artificial constructions amount to for Uber,
Airbnb and the like is an attempt to bypass laws enacted over decades precisely
in order to protect both renters and landlords, taxi drivers and passengers.
Impressed by their popularity and financial clout, most lawmakers bend over
backwards to accommodate them. Helpfully, California passed a special law
recognising Uber and its competitors as “Transportation Network Companies”. In
the face of complaints by London’s black-cab drivers, the high court ruled last
year that an Uber driver’s smartphone is not a “taximeter” because the
measurement of mileage through GPS signals and the calculation of the fare are
done over the internet. This might strike some as a perversely creative refusal
to acknowledge the plain meaning of the relevant legislation. The full
definition of “taximeter” in the Private Hire Vehicles (London) Act of 1998
reads: “In this section ‘taximeter’ means a device for calculating the fare to
be charged in respect of any journey by reference to the distance travelled or
time elapsed since the start of the journey (or a combination of both).”
None of this is to say that profitable pseudo-“sharing”
operations cannot be set up to work in the best interests of everyone. The
introduction of Paris’s cycle-hire scheme Vélib’ in 2007 was a great boon for
residents of the city, and it now also has Autolib’, a very successful similar
operation for electric cars. In the meantime, lots of us will continue to use
Uber, too. To criticise it is not the sole preserve of people who are
unqualified admirers of London cabbies’ high fares and habit of driving past in
the rain. Slee points out, rightly, that his arguments are not about whether he
or his readers actually use these services. In modern times we have been miseducated
to believe that consumer choice is all-powerful, but the idea that consumers
exercising their sovereign right to choose will always lead to the best
outcomes is obviously in the interest of corporations seeking to escape
official regulation. So, Slee uses Airbnb himself but backs the city
authorities seeking to regulate it more tightly; and there is no contradiction
in taking an Uber home from a party while wishing the company were better
behaved. Only the law can force it to be so.
MAGIC IS GONE
USING AIRBNB ISN’T FUN ANYMORE
“It’s a hard thing to measure—and maybe, at this point, the
company doesn’t even care—but for me, the romance is gone.”
By Rosie SpinksDecember 3, 2017
I remember the first time I ever used Airbnb. It was a
studio in the 18th arrondissement of Paris, with a slice of the Sacre Coeur
visible from the window. I’d rented it for a month from a woman roughly my age,
and it was her first time being a host. As she handed over the keys, I could
sense we both felt the same thing: relief that, so far, this strange
transaction—brokered by a San Francisco startup that had only launched in
France the year before—was actually going okay. The whole process had a
charming, homespun quality that I remember fondly.
In the years that followed that moment, in 2013, I used
Airbnb a lot. For two years, lacking a permanent address, I more or less lived
out of spare rooms from Berlin to Ho Chi Minh City to Cape Town. And in that
same period, Airbnb grew from a scrappy, idealistic startup to a global
behemoth valued at $30 billion—more than Hilton and Hyatt combined—and all
without owning a single room to rent.
No success story is without its bumps, and Airbnb has gone
through a particularly rocky phase of late. Its recent problems go beyond the
quality control pitfalls of a business in the sharing economy—negligent hosts,
the occasional bed bug infestation, or, more chillingly, hidden web cams. The
headlines the company is most worried about these days are of another type entirely:
gentrification, urban housing crises, racial discrimination, and the thorny
ethical question of whether it’s okay to skirt local laws for cheaper
accommodation.
Personally, I’ve found that as Airbnb, the whimsical website
you can use to to “belong anywhere,” has become Airbnb, the multinational
travel company accused of raising housing prices and ruining once-beloved parts
of some cities, it’s hard to feel as warm and fuzzy about the proposition as I
did that day in the 18th arrondissement.
Where once I was nervous about whether or not the linens
would be clean (all but once, they were), these days I often struggle to find
listings that aren’t of the “airspace” variety. First described by Kyle Chayka
in The Verge, this refers to the global creep of aesthetic gentrification where
every listed apartment from Mexico to Malta bears the aesthetic of
Williamsburg, Brooklyn, rather than the local culture where it’s based. When
booking a recent trip, I found that the “Homes” section of the interface was buried
behind new offerings like paid “Experiences” and featured destinations I had no
interest in going to. I ended up booking a boutique hotel at a similar price
point.
Booking an Airbnb in ParisReuters/Christian Hartmann Maybe I
should just book a hotel?
The idea of a “global community” that sounded so great when
the company was founded in 2008 might be wearing off for some of the company’s
employees, according to a recent report from the Information. The cost-cutting
measure of firing 50 full-time employees and 100 contractors involved in the
company’s much-loved food service operation—which was often described to new
hires as emblematic of the company’s “be a host” value system—prompted an
outcry among company employees.
As a non-listed company, Airbnb’s financials are not public,
so anything citing their earnings is, at least in part, conjecture. That said,
sources told the Information that while the company had met its growth goals
for the year, “Airbnb saw a slowdown in the number of ‘nights booked’ earlier
this year” and employee surveys reflected a “downturn in morale.” A recent
report from Morgan Stanley also noted that the company’s growth had plateaued,
despite profitability. (The report only surveyed users in the US and Europe,
not the fast-growing markets of Latin America and China.)
While internal company politics and financials don’t
necessarily mirror public perception—the company’s recent financials were
strong, at least according to “sources familiar”—it’s fair to say that the
global community that Airbnb treats as a main value proposition is imperiled in
general these days. In the past twelve months, Airbnb founder Brian Chesky has
been forced to wade into highly politicized issues ranging from white supremacy
to refugee rights. While the company’s generally progressive stance in these
areas may have pleased most of its core millennial demographic, the fact
remains: This is no longer a boutique travel company providing DIY authentic
experiences. It’s a major economic and political force. With that that comes a
lot of complexity that’s hard to conceal with slick branding.
It isn’t just a macro shift in our politics that has
complicated Airbnb’s brand; there’s an actual, quantifiable backlash, too. The
company has been blamed for everything from declining populations in central
Paris to putting immigrant enclaves like Berlin’s Neukölln and Kreuzberg on the
fast track to unchecked gentrification through the rise of “Airbnb clusters.”
The Hotel Association of New York City recently put out an ad connecting the
company with the disgraced Donald Trump campaign manager Paul Manafort, who’s
been accused of putting his New York City condo on Airbnb as part of a money
laundering scheme. There have been crackdowns ranging in severity in Paris,
London, Berlin, Barcelona, New York, Amsterdam, and San Francisco, to name a
few. The city of Santa Monica, in West Los Angeles, has gone after the company
particularly hard.
While the locally-imposed rules and regulations affect hosts
by imposing, for example, limits on the maximum days one can rent per year,
they are increasingly seeping into guests’ experiences too. There have been
reports of listings which ask guests to keep quiet about the fact that they are
using Airbnb. This is in some cases to avoid detection from local officials,
but perhaps more damning, the ire of fellow building tenants who are tired of
transient arrivals, too. While it’s nice to help a local pay their rent while
I’m traveling, it feels more complicated when the local residents whose lives
I’m trying to emulate clearly don’t want me there.
It’s important to note that, while the backlash has has
appeared definitive in the headlines, the data that supports the claim that
Airbnb has an adverse effect on the housing crisis is not as black and white.
There are a bevy of factors that contribute to increases in rents, which vary
widely by city and country. Much of the research done showing Airbnb has an
adverse effect on the housing or rental market (or no effect at all), is either
funded by groups who have a vested interest in their outcome—such as affordable
housing advocacy groups, or the company itself—or met with skepticism due to
the scope of their data.
According to Andy Cunningham, a veteran Silicon Valley
marketing and brand strategist, the reason my feelings have changed about this
brand I once loved is at least in part because they failed to update their
narrative.
“Airbnb developed a really great brand strategy early on
when they were able to gain a foothold. It was so great that they don’t know
how to evolve it as the world changes around them,” Cunningham told me. “When
you are one of the forces that is changing the world, like Airbnb, you have an
even bigger responsibility to adjust your narrative going forward. Instead,
they keep introducing new products, without shifting the narrative of how that
connects to the company at all.”
A year since launching the “Trips” part of the
platform—which includes Experiences, which the company recently announced has
“grown by 20x since January 2017, with guests paying an average of $55 per
booking”—users can now use Airbnb not just to find a place to stay, but also
what they should do when they get there and where they should make a dinner
reservation, too. It’s worth noting that, in the early days of the platform,
these are all things I used to ask my host about, for free. But with its
co-hosting feature, Airbnb even offers hosts a way to circumvent what was once
the whole appeal—interacting with their guests—by paying for someone to do it
for them.
In a sense, the whole platform has started to feel less like
a tool to plan the kind of trip I want to have, and more like a travel company
that wants to plan my entire trip for me—and make money off it at every step in
the process.
Is it possible to have the kind of spontaneous,
Rioja-sipping evening with a mandolin-playing bohemian that I’ve had in the
past while using Airbnb? Sure. Does Airbnb still offer benefits over a hotel
that mean I will probably use it again? Absolutely. But as Airbnb has grown, so
too has my sense that maybe I should just get a hotel, book a trendy hostel, or
stay with friends.
It’s a hard thing to measure—and maybe, at this point, the
company doesn’t even care—but for me, the romance is gone.
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário