I stayed in a stunning AirBnb in Mar Vista — a neighborhood in LA — over the holidays. I have a beautiful home in Seattle and this was the first time I’ve stayed somewhere (since moving to where I live now) where I thought, “This place is nicer than my own.”

Seriously, this place was gorgeous, one of those rare spots that lives up to — and even surpasses — the photos. Big windows, incredible light, amazing kitchen, welcoming (and private) outdoor space. And a bathtub in which I could easily imagine Robert Redford shampooing my hair. (Look it up.)

But one evening — early on New Year’s Eve — the Wi-Fi stopped working, and the romance was over. (Indeed, I am a fickle woman.) The property managers were responsive and a couple of hours later the issue was resolved, but it was a reminder of the crapshoot that staying in an AirBnB can be. Will things be as promised? Will everything work? Will there be someone there when it doesn’t? When, on the rare occasion, I’ve had significant issues, AirBnB has stepped in and helped, but it’s not the same as having someone down at the front desk — or knowing that there is always someone nearby (even if you have to travel up the chain of command a few rungs) who really cares about hospitality.

The very first AirBnB in which I stayed — in the Arts District in Downtown LA — was so hot and sweaty (the hosts had taken liberties with the common definition of “air conditioning”) that I checked out immediately and went to a hotel, ultimately forfeiting my payment.

I stayed at an AirBnB in Hollywood — a cool converted hangar — that was so filthy with dust and cobwebs that I successfully got my cleaning fee back.

Will things be as promised? Will everything work? Will there be someone there when it doesn’t?

There was the AirBnB in Silver Lake that I decided was built by someone who spent more money than they had, lost it all, and then they — or the bank — sold it to a porn production company that occasionally rented it for lodging, between shoots. EVERYTHING in this giant, beautiful house was falling apart and none of it was getting fixed. (You can do amazing things with camera angles and lighting.)

Then there was that really great place in Venice in which the owners obviously had put time and thought — for example, leaving a well-curated list of recommendations for spots to check out in the neighborhood. But I was self-conscious about being in their backyard and making too much noise, particularly when I saw the kid toys strewn across the yard. (When an AirBnB listing includes photos of a child’s room, I quickly skip over it, thinking about the kid who I’m displacing and wondering where they’re going to be sleeping while I’m there; I’ve heard stories about families sleeping in backyard sheds while their houses are occupied.)

Regardless of the condition of the place, I also have concerns about my safety when I stay at an AirBnB, particularly when I have a self check-in after dark. (I’m a woman; we check closets.) Again, it’s nice knowing that there is someone downstairs to call.

When a listing includes photos of a child’s room, I quickly skip over it, thinking about the kid who I’m displacing and wondering where they’re going to be sleeping while I’m there.

More than once an AirBnB host in LA has asked — via their house manual and in their messages to me — to lie and say that I’m a friend or a family member as opposed to revealing that I’m an AirBnB guest, a scheme in which I don’t want to participate. I stayed in a great little duplex in the gentrified Grant Park neighborhood of Atlanta and, despite it being a friendly neighborhood (I arrived on Halloween to throngs of cute kids on the streets), I didn’t know if they’d be friendly to me as an AirBnB guest, so I kept my head down and to myself. While I’ve only been the recipient of one neighbor’s death stare — this time at another spot in Mar Vista — it’s uncomfortable.

I’ve stayed in an AirBnB (I’ve done so 15 times since June 2016) when I was going to be somewhere for a stretch of time and wanted to be able to do laundry or when I wanted (or, more likely, wanted a friend) to cook a meal. Relative to my hotel stays, it’s been infrequent. On one occasion, on another trip to Atlanta, I stayed in an AirBnB because I couldn’t find a hotel that appealed to me. But 13 of the 15 AirBnBs in which I’ve stayed have been in Los Angeles, which is a problem in itself and one I really need to address — and the reason why all those hosts are asking me to lie. The city has a drastic housing shortage, which contributes to incredibly expensive housing costs, economic insecurity, and even homelessness. I can’t continue to ignore that I’m part of the problem.

I can’t continue to ignore that I’m part of the problem.

To address concerns about the platform’s impact on the housing shortage, in mid-December the LA City Council passed an ordinance that says that 1) AirBnB hosts can only rent out their primary residence — and not for more than 120 days per year; 2) apartments that are rent stabilized cannot be rented on AirBnB at all; and 3) AirBnB hosts need to register with the city. These new rules take effect this July, which provides some time for those who bought (often multiple) apartments with the express purpose of renting them on AirBnB to come up with a new business plan. Housing advocates in LA, who effectively lobbied for the ordinance, estimate that the new rules could put 11,000 units back on the market.

That, my friends, is a lot of units.

Unfortunately, according to the LA Times, the ordinance is being undermined before it can go into effect. This includes exceptions being made for owner/occupants of the rent-stabilized apartments and an effort to create a “vacation home” category that could further weaken the new rules. Both exceptions would be difficult — and expensive — for the city to verify. AirBnB has apparently spent $1.2 million lobbying the city, chump change for a company worth billions and which likely pulls in the equivalent in fees from LA AirBnB’s in no time.

I’m going to stop staying in AirBnBs in LA and in other cities where I have options and where a housing crisis is underway, unless I can verify that the hosts are playing by the rules. I noted recently that AirBnB is working with “boutique hotels” to rent out their rooms. Until I find out how much that strategy is going to screw someone over — outside of the hotels themselves — that will be the extent of my use of their platform. A load of clean laundry and a likely lower nightly rate isn’t an adequate justification to do otherwise.