Three times a week, I go to the same condo building on Srinakarin Road. Over a two-year period, it's been interesting to slowly watch the cracks appear (and I don't mean the ones from the recent earthquake)

There’s a certain thrill in the launch of a new condo in Thailand. Giant billboards appear overnight. Uniformed staff hand out glossy brochures promising “lifestyle living” and “urban serenity.” There’s a drone video showing a rooftop infinity pool, a gym with three treadmills, and co-working spaces full of extras pretending to work on laptops. Expats, particularly new arrivals, get caught in the glitz. “Why rent when you can own?” they ask, seduced by pre-sale discounts and the illusion of it being a great investment.

But ask any long-termer - someone who’s been here a decade or more - and you’ll often hear the same cautionary tale: condos age like milk, not wine. Especially those, let's say, that offer units in the two to three million baht bracket, which seems to be a common price point.

Year one - the honeymoon phase

The keycards and face recognition system work well. The cushions in the shared lounge are plump. The front desk staff smile at you like they’ve been trained at a five-star hotel. Even the koi pond is full of actual koi, not green sludge. The gym? Spotless. The pool? Blue and glorious. The elevator? Plays relaxing music and has a feint aroma of lemongrass. It’s all very promising.

Year three - the slow slide begins

I say year three but it could be even sooner. The rooftop bar is long gone (it never stood a chance did it?) and is now converted into a 'multi-purpose storage area' - which in condo-speak means broken furniture and dead plants.The guy who used to clean the pool is now only seen once a week, looking visibly defeated. The sauna is perpetually “under maintenance”. You start noticing minor but ominous things: bubbling paint, water stains on ceilings, mystery smells in the hallway. The front desk is now staffed by someone’s cousin who speaks four words of English and hides behind their phone. These days, the community chat LINE group is 90% arguments about barking dogs, thumping music, and how residents who let their room out to AirBnB stayers should be burned at the stake. 

Year five - welcome to the jungle

The building is now a collection of short-term Airbnb guests dragging suitcases at midnight, baffled digital nomads with sleeve tattoos and startup ideas no one asked for, and the occasional grumpy owner wondering why their resale value has dropped 35%.

The swimming pool has turned into a mosquito sanctuary. The keycards demagnetize weekly. The gym equipment has one functioning machine - possibly a rowing machine, possibly a medieval torture device. The juristic person has either quit, disappeared, or is locked in a bitter feud with the management company.

The problem with condo culture

The issue isn’t just wear and tear. It’s a cultural mismatch between slick development marketing and long-term property management. Maintenance budgets are often too low. Owners often don’t want to pay higher common fees. Renters and Airbnb guests have no stake in the upkeep. And once things start to break down, the spiral is swift and brutal. Unlike in some countries, Thai condos (certainly those at the lower end) rarely undergo major refurbishments or structured reserve fund planning. What was “modern luxury” in 2018 now looks like Soviet housing with a marble lobby.

Resale? Good luck.

Trying to sell your unit? You’ll be competing with newer, shinier towers offering free TVs, waived transfer fees, and 'freehold foreign quota' banners the size of buses. Your lovingly furnished unit now gives off strong 'budget Airbnb with 3.8 stars' energy. Buyers aren’t stupid. They can smell a decaying building the moment the elevator dings and reveals a busted ceiling tile, a flickering light-bulb, and a notice board that’s become a shrine to unresolved grievances, bad handwriting, and multiple versions of “Don’t leave your trash outside the door.”

Renting: The smarter gamble?

This is why many long-term expats choose to rent. Not because they’re commitment-phobes, but because they’ve seen things. They’ve watched glamorous buildings become glorified dormitories. They’ve heard stories of lawsuits, mismanaged sinking funds, and condo boards that function like dysfunctional family reunions. When you rent, you can leave. When you own, you're stuck - staring out at your algae-covered infinity pool, wondering where it all went wrong.

Final thoughts: shiny towers, short lifespans

Buying a condo in Thailand isn’t always a bad idea, but it’s not the golden ticket many assume. The honeymoon phase is short. The maintenance culture is often reactive, not proactive. And once the gloss fades, you're left with a high-rise that ages like a banana in the sun. So yes, that new development might look like the cover of Wallpaper magazine today - but check back in five years. You might find a haunted gym, a mosquito spa, and a long-term resident named Dave who's still waiting for the sauna to be fixed.