Samantha Stobo was fresh off a breakup and unable to afford her Manhattan two-bedroom alone. So the 29-year-old decided to move in with her mom in Miami until she could get back on her feet. She told herself it would only take a few months.

Now 33-years old, Stobo has no plans to move out.

“I thought it was going to be temporary,” Stobo said. “But it’s been three years now, and I love it.”

Living at home as a 20-something was once viewed as a failure to launch and even a source of embarrassment in a culture that places a premium on independence. That is no longer the case. Living at home is now often viewed as a sign of financial prudence, and for some, a long-term prospect.

Chronically high living costs are helping reshape the milestones of early adulthood in America. The national median home price hovers above $400,000. Rents are at record highs in cities across the U.S., and many recent college graduates are saddled with tens of thousands of dollars in student debt.

Even though some of these young adults pay their folks rent, it tends to be well below the cost of living on their own.

“Everything is just out of reach,” said 28-year-old Megan Talley, who lives at home with her mom in the Atlanta suburbs. If a young person wants to live alone, “you could do it, but you would be dead broke at the end of the month.”

Last year, 49% of adults under age 30 said they lived with a parent, up 12 percentage points from 2019, according to the Federal Reserve’s latest Survey of Household Economics and Decisionmaking. Nearly a third of those adults were 25 or older.

Some economists put that figure lower and note that the Fed study doesn’t distinguish between children living in their parents’ homes versus parents living in their children’s homes.

Still, young people say that living at home in 2026 doesn’t carry the stigma it once did because of how unaffordable life has become. About 55% of young adults who moved back home said it was out of financial necessity, according to a spring survey by financial services firm Thrivent.

So many parents and adult children are living together now that it is beginning to transform aspects of American society—from when members of the younger generation start a family to the way builders think about designing homes.

Far from hiding it, some now broadcast their lives as “stay-at-home daughters” or “stay-at-home sons” on social media. Stobo says posting about her mother-daughter living situation on TikTok has earned her a friendly comment section filled with others in the same position—and makes her some money.

“No one ever judges me,” she said. “The conversation tends to be more like, ‘That’s awesome, and I bet you’re saving money.’”

Casey Wright, 28-years-old, moved back home to Oxford, Mich., three years ago after being laid off from two consecutive jobs. She redecorated her childhood bedroom to match her adult aesthetic, tearing down her Twilight posters and choir awards and hanging a floral tapestry and framed landscapes.

She and her parents have come to an agreement on living together as adults. She no longer has a curfew, for instance. But before she goes out, Wright’s parents require her to tell them where she’s going and what time she expects to be back.

The Wrights have dinner together every night and go golfing or walking together a few times a month. Casey still hangs out in her parents’ room occasionally to talk about movies with her dad or to gossip with her mom.

She just doesn’t spend time with her parents quite as often as she did when she was a child and is more often in her room playing videogames or reading. “It’s not as much as when I was younger, because I feel like there’s almost that separation that’s needed as an adult,” she said. “You’re not just living in your childhood home as a child.”

Multigenerational living has long been more of a norm among Hispanic, Asian and Black households, along with immigrant families.

During the pandemic, a broader swath of 20-somethings returned home. It was supposed to be short-term; then came record inflation and double-digit rent increases.

By July 2020, 52% of young Americans age 18 to 29 lived with at least one parent, according to a Pew Research Center analysis of census data. It was the first time a majority of young adults in the country had lived with parents since the Great Depression. That share has likely dropped since then, but for some people the arrangements have stuck.

Living with parents became a “dominant living arrangement in America for people in this age group,” said Laurence Steinberg, a Temple University psychology professor who recently wrote the book “You and Your Adult Child.”

States such as California and New York have loosened regulations around building accessory dwelling units in recent years. Once nicknamed “granny flats,” ADUs are now used to house budget-squeezed adult children.

Villa Homes, a California home builder, is used to this kind of customer. The firm is seeing more families add detached ADUs for their grown children or other relatives, to live in for a few years and save money for a starter home.

Carmen Johnson, 33, has loved living with her parents in the Detroit metro area since the start of Covid. She doesn’t pay rent, splits grocery bills with her family and invests those savings in her music career and toward a future home. It beats barely making ends meet in her old Los Angeles apartment.

“Covid flipped the script,” Johnson said. “It’s a blessing in disguise.”

She isn’t ashamed of living at home, and doesn’t judge other people for it either. But she wouldn’t necessarily reveal it to a first date unless asked directly.

Bringing home a date also requires a bit of mental calculus.

“It’s like, ‘OK, is my dad going to be in the living room watching TV?’” Johnson said.

Sometimes, that kind of strategizing goes both ways. Jessica Suzio, a 52-year old widow in Michigan, has tried to get back into the dating scene in recent years. But with her two sons living at home, both in their mid-20s, bringing back a new boyfriend is uncomfortable for all involved, she said.

Suzio is happy to have her sons at home, and they help with household expenses by paying her some rent.

“When they were younger, I was daydreaming about the days that I would be an empty-nester,” she said. “But I’ve grown to really appreciate them sticking around.”

Kevin Grolig, a 59-year-old real-estate agent in the D.C. metro area, started noticing that his clients were delaying downsizing their homes because their adult children were still living there. So he came up with a “four-step plan” to get grown children out of the house. The most important: agree on a move-out timeline before the child even steps back in the door.

Casey Wright in Michigan doesn’t pay rent, but her father, Craig, said she has been a big help around the house. She does much of the grocery shopping, helps with the cooking and has learned to use the riding lawn mower, manicuring the yard when Craig is busy.

About five times a day, she says, her mom knocks on her door, often to ask for help with technology.

“If I had the ability to, I would move out tomorrow,” Wright said. Nothing against her parents, “I would just love to have the freedom to do what they were doing at my age.”

Wright’s father wishes the same for his daughter. He and his wife expected to have an empty nest by now.

But he realizes that the housing market is different today than when he was in his 30s in the 1980s and bought a three-bedroom home for $70,000, less than a fifth of today’s median home price. He estimates his salary back then was about $35,000.

Some of Craig’s friends also have adult children living at home. “It’s kind of normal,” he said.

Near the end of “North By Northwest,” Alfred Hitchcock’s 1959 thriller, the protagonist, Roger Thornhill (played by Cary Grant), follows the seductress Eve Kendall (played by Eva Marie Saint) to a sprawling Modernist house reminiscent of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater.

Except this house is situated not over a waterfall but, absurdly, atop Mount Rushmore.

The Vandamm House, named for the movie’s villain, never existed except on a Hollywood soundstage.

But it seems so real on the screen that Christine Madrid French, an expert on the architecture of Hitchcock’s films, says people sometimes tell her: “I went to Mount Rushmore, but I forgot to visit the house.”

John Boccardo, who grew up in Los Gatos, Calif., was 11 when the film came out. He saw it nearly a dozen times at the Studio Theatre in San Jose.

He was especially taken with the Vandamm House, which seemed completely real to him.

“I promised myself I would visit it one day,” says Boccardo. In the meantime, he drew surprisingly realistic renderings of it, from memory, while still in grade school. undefined

Years later, as an architecture student at SCI-Arc (Southern California Institute of Architecture) in downtown Los Angeles, he learned that the house didn’t exist.

A couple of rooms and two small sections of its exterior had been built on MGM’s Culver City lot under the supervision of production designer Robert Boyle.

For scenes in which the house was in the background, Hitchcock relied on paintings of the imaginary building by special-effects artist Matthew Yuricich.

The paintings, known as mattes in Hollywood, weren’t terribly realistic, but with Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint moving across the screen, moviegoers didn’t notice.

“It may be the most famous Modernist house that never existed,” says French, an architecture and film historian and the author of “The Architecture of Suspense: The Built World in the Films of Alfred Hitchcock.”

Boccardo went on to become a successful architect who worked in both northern and southern California.

Then, while semi-retired and living in Utah, he decided it was time to build the Vandamm House. His partner, Derek Esplin, threw himself into the project, working out details of everything from financing to furnishing. Says Esplin, a film producer, “I took it on as my life’s work.”

Boccardo, 78, Esplin, 59, and their three dogs (two schnauzers and an aussiedoodle) moved into the house in February.

The men have used it the last four months to ensure that everything is working perfectly. Now they are offering the house for sale at $45 million. The furniture and fixtures are available separately. “It can be turnkey,” Esplin says. The broker is Paul Benson of Engel & Völkers in Park City.

“I expect to get the full price,” says Benson. “It is not an outlier. We sold a house by the same architect in Park City last year for $65 million. And this is one of the most exceptional homes ever built in the state of Utah. You couldn’t recreate it for $45 million.”

Boccardo and Esplin declined to say how much it cost to build the house. But they got a bargain when they paid about $2 million for the 1.7 acre lot in 2021. (Benson says the land alone would command $7 million to $10 million today.) They chose the site, high above Park City, after searching for property that would let the house, with its dramatic cantilevers, be seen from below.

The property, which offers unobstructed views of the Wasatch Range, is in the Pinnacle , a gated community (complete with a clubhouse and a concierge) within the Promontory, a larger gated community—like a nightclub’s VVIP room entered through its VIP room.

With the site selected, they turned to Salt Lake City architect Michael Upwall, who is known for designing very large houses for the very rich. The dramatic aerie in HBO’s “Mountainhead,” with Steve Carrell, was one of his.

Laying out the house, Boccardo and Upwall, who served as co-architects, knew it would have a large living room with a wall of windows at one end and a stairway at the other. The stairway would lead, via a mezzanine, to one of the bedrooms. But that was all they could glean from the movie.

To finish the floorplans, says French, they had to answer all the questions the filmmakers never asked, such as “What’s behind that door?”and “What’s around that corner?”

And how many bedrooms, bathrooms and kitchens are there? Their answer: six, eleven and three. (Boccardo and Esplin met French when they attended a lecture she gave about Hitchcock. The two men have since hired her to write about their house.)

Boccardo and Esplin also had to answer questions the filmmakers, even the wildly imaginative Hitchcock, would never have thought to ask:

How many black leather seats, fully reclining and heated, should there be in the home theatre? (18)

How much will it cost to fire-harden the house? (Over $1 million. “You can’t make a house completely fireproof, but you can improve its chance of surviving,” Esplin says. A special pump allows the water in the extra-deep, 75-foot lap pool to be used for firefighting.)

How much should we spend on custom walnut cabinetry? (Also over $1 million.)

What if our dogs’ feet get cold? (Relax. The house’s 100-foot-long gravel dog run is heated.)

Structural engineer Cambria M. Flowers figured out how to support the living room, which cantilevers 40 feet into thin air. The answer was to build two 160-foot-long steel-reinforced concrete beams, 120 feet of which anchor the cantilever while also supporting the ceiling of the garage.

Thick diagonal beams, like those shown prominently in “North By Northwest,” were slipped in later to provide additional stability. In the end, the project required 400 tons of steel, 4,000 cubic yards of concrete and 24 miles of electrical wire, according to contractor Gary Hill.

Now the men are ready to return to the last dream house they built, against dramatic red rocks in the southern Utah town of Ivins. Boccardo hopes the buyer of the Vandamm house is a lover of “North By Northwest.”

Esplin says that he and Boccardo, who dreamt of the house for more than 60 years, occasionally wonder if they really want to sell it. But then they remind themselves that it will be okay for someone else to own it. After all, Esplin says, “Many houses are built without stories. But this house has a story. And the story of this house belongs to us.”