Berlin – The German capital, once an affordable haven for students, artists, and digital nomads, is now struggling with a less visible but equally critical housing problem: the erosion of trust. In a city where international arrivals once expected freedom and flexibility, they now encounter legal ambiguity, inflated promises, and a rental market caught between overregulation and exploitation.
At the heart of this issue is a growing disconnect between tenants and landlords—both victims and contributors to a dysfunctional system. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the rapidly growing furnished and all-inclusive housing segment, which has evolved from a convenient alternative into a pressure point of misinformation, legal manipulation, and withheld supply.
Over the past year, Berlin has seen a 30% increase in listings for furnished apartments on major platforms. But the uptick in availability tells only half the story. Behind the numbers lies a significant drop in booking rates, lease renewals, and tenant satisfaction. Many apartments remain empty for longer, even as demand for housing continues. The market isn’t failing due to lack of interest—it’s failing because tenants and landlords no longer trust the system or each other.
The situation is aggravated by the complexity of Berlin’s regulatory environment. What was intended to protect tenants has morphed into a web of bureaucracy that now discourages many landlords from participating altogether. With multiple layers of rent control, documentation requirements, and unclear boundaries between what constitutes “fair pricing” for furnished apartments, many property owners have opted out. The fear of legal action, combined with administrative overload, has led to a quiet exodus of small-scale landlords who see compliance as a risk, not a duty.
For tenants, the experience can be equally disorienting. Many furnished listings promote flexible, stress-free living but fail to deliver on even the most basic expectations. Tenants report unclean apartments, non-functioning appliances, unreachable support lines, and rental agreements offered only in German—despite being marketed primarily to international audiences.
A 28-year-old SEO manager from India, who requested anonymity, described her experience renting a furnished room for €750 in Europacity: “The place was dusty, the radiator didn’t work, and every support ticket closed automatically without anyone showing up. After seven tries, I just stopped asking.” The room had been advertised as 20 square meters, but in reality, it was barely 10. “The photos showed a bright, spacious room with a wide window and a desk,” she said. “What I got was a very small room with barely any light and furniture that looked nothing like the pictures. It felt like a misleading advertising.”
To make matters worse, the room was still occupied when she arrived. The landlord had overbooked the unit and had to quickly relocate the previous tenant elsewhere. “They promised to give me the room in a few days, but I didn’t get the keys for nearly a month,” she recalled. “They never explained what was going on, and I had nowhere to go.” When she finally moved in, the apartment was a mess. “The bathroom was filthy, the kitchen was covered with mold, and it looked like no one had cleaned anything in weeks.” Despite raising multiple complaints, no proper cleaning or repairs were arranged.
For newcomers—especially non-EU nationals—the impact goes beyond inconvenience. Without a proper lease, registration is not impossible. Without registration (Anmeldung,) residents can’t open bank accounts, activate insurance, or in some cases, renew their visas. What begins as a housing issue rapidly evolves into a bureaucratic crisis.
While tenants navigate unclear contracts and inflated promises, another player has entered Berlin’s rental equation—legal service platforms that market themselves as tenant advocates, but operate more like debt collection agencies. Their advertising is everywhere: YouTube pre-rolls, social media feeds, and expat blogs, all promising quick legal victories for “overpaying” tenants. One click and a few uploaded documents later, the process begins—sometimes without the tenant even realizing they’ve initiated formal legal action.
These companies position themselves as legal allies, but often blur the line between consumer protection and commercial self-interest. Their model relies on taking a cut of the “savings” tenants may receive if the rent is deemed too high—similar to how traditional debt collectors profit from recovered payments. The difference here? The debt isn’t owed—it’s speculative.
And for furnished, all-inclusive leases—where pricing includes not only furniture, but Wi-Fi, insurance, and rapid-response maintenance—the notion of “excessive rent” is far more complex. These types of contracts often fall outside the Mietpreisbremse (rent brake) regulations. Yet that legal distinction is rarely explained to tenants who are unfamiliar with German housing law or misled by overly simplified online forms.
The results can be severe. Tenants who pursue these claims often find their leases not renewed—or worse, terminated early. Some lose their Anmeldung and risk visa complications. And because the platforms often present themselves as law firms or legal portals, tenants only learn too late that the promised protections may not apply to their situation.
For landlords, the spread of these tactics has introduced a new level of volatility. Several small-scale owners interviewed for this report say they’ve already pulled units from the market after receiving automated legal threats. “It’s not worth the risk,” one said. “These companies encourage tenants to sue first and ask questions later. I’d rather leave the place empty than enter into that.”
In most cases, rent control limits do not apply to furnished leases that include utilities, Wi-Fi, repairs, and services. Yet this nuance is often buried or omitted in advertising. Tenants, acting in good faith, initiate claims and later discover their lease is exempt. By then, the damage is done. Some find their contracts are not renewed. Others are abruptly asked to leave. And in a few cases, the legal action itself becomes a reason for landlords to blacklist tenants from future rentals.
Landlords, in turn, respond by exiting the furnished market, reducing supply even further. “Why should I risk litigation over whether internet and furniture count as ‘justified costs’?” one small landlord in Friedrichshain asked. “It’s easier to just keep the unit empty or rent it to companies.”
This atmosphere of fear and avoidance is only worsened by the regulatory overreach that now defines Berlin’s housing market. With each new tenant protection measure, landlords face more compliance hurdles: contract disclosures, deposit handling standards, digital documentation for price justifications, and language translation obligations. Rather than encouraging fairness, the system now inadvertently punishes participation.
A decade ago, Berlin was a different place. Rents were low. Tenants were treated informally. Sublets were common, and landlords were accessible. But as investor interest grew, so did professional platforms—followed by speculative coliving brands that prioritized expansion over quality. The influx of digital nomads and remote workers added pressure to an already limited market. Within a few short years, rooms once available for €400 climbed to €1,000 and above—often with fewer rights and lower standards than traditional tenancies.
Now, Berlin is at a crossroads. Trust has become the rarest commodity, and its absence is affecting more than just tenants and landlords.
Universities across the city report growing concern over enrollment. At least two international student offices confirm that housing insecurity is now one of the leading causes of delayed or deferred admissions. “Students are ready to come to Germany,” said one staff member from a private university, “but they can’t find anything trustworthy. We’ve had students request to postpone their semester because they couldn’t secure a safe lease.”
Employers in the startup and tech sectors are also feeling the impact. Several companies report delayed relocations, extended remote onboarding, and even dropouts due to housing struggles. Laura, an HR manager at a mid-sized fintech firm, shared the case of a senior data engineer relocating with his wife and two children. “He was coming from the U.S., and despite having a strong income, he couldn’t find a decent furnished apartment for his family. Most listings on the big platforms were either too small or unaffordable for a family of four,” she explained.
The few suitable places they found on sites like ImmoScout were either already taken or out of reach due to landlord preferences. “They applied for one they really liked, could afford, and had all documents—but the private landlord turned them down. They’re African-American family, and while nothing was said directly, they were left wondering if that played a role,” she added. Eventually, someone from the company helped them secure a place, but it took almost three months of back and forth. In the meantime, they were living in an Airbnb, paying nearly his entire salary just to have a roof over their heads.”
Beyond the institutional damage lies the psychological toll. Housing is not just a place to sleep—it’s stability. Without it, newcomers to Berlin report heightened anxiety, disconnection, and emotional fatigue. For many, especially those from the Global South or with limited German language skills, the housing crisis is their first experience of systemic exclusion.
“It’s hard to focus on work, friendships, or even learning the language when your living situation is uncertain,” said Duván M, a Colombian software developer who moved to Berlin in late 2023. “It’s like living in limbo.”
A small number of housing providers have chosen a different route—avoiding speculative pricing, investing in customer service, and ensuring multilingual, legally compliant contracts. One such provider, known for its anti-discrimination policy and transparent leasing, attributes its stable occupancy to fairness, not advertising.
“We made a conscious decision early on at KUMMUNI to price our apartments fairly and communicate clearly,”says Constanze Bungs, Chief Operating Officer at a Berlin-based provider of furnished apartments and coliving spaces. “We don’t make big promises or try to impress with tricks. What we give is something people can count on. In a market like this, that is very important.”
Still, responsible players are not immune to reputational damage. The broader market’s dysfunction spills into every corner. As forums fill with horror stories and influencer content goes viral with negative experiences, trust in the entire housing ecosystem collapses—regardless of merit.
So what is Berlin to do?
The solution isn’t more regulation, but smarter, differentiated policies. Legislators must separate furnished and unfurnished leases within rent control enforcement. Service-inclusive contracts must be evaluated with nuanced criteria. Legal platforms targeting tenants should be required to clearly disclose legal exemptions, rather than implying blanket applicability.
Equally, incentives must be created to bring small landlords back into the formal system. These could include tax reductions, digital lease templates that reduce compliance confusion, and mediation tools to resolve disputes before they escalate into lawsuits. Transparency should be legally mandated—but the path to achieving it should be streamlined and fair.
Housing is a pillar of social inclusion, economic mobility, and urban identity. Berlin, a city once defined by openness and accessibility, cannot afford to continue down a path where fear dictates policy and silence becomes the rational choice for landlords.
Until the city rebuilds the foundations of trust—between tenant and landlord, between law and practice—it will not solve its housing shortage. Because the real shortage isn’t just apartments. It’s belief that the system still works.
