John Downs, a 29-year-old reporter at AM640 Toronto Radio, and his girlfriend, Domini Clark, a 26-year-old food editor at The Globe and Mail, met one night in 1999 at Whiskey Saigon while dancing to '80s nostalgia. They became friends, and a few months later, Downs asked Clark over to his place to watch TV. "I was stoked because he had cable," says Clark, “so I put on fishnets and sexy boots.” It was love during Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. “I didn’t know what was turning me on more, the boots or the fact that she knew all the answers,” he says. After three years of dating, it was pretty clear they were in it for the long haul. Downs worked out what his folks were dropping on his sister’s wedding and concocted a plan: “I decided to ask if they’d just give me the money to use as a down payment. A home is more important to us than a party.”

Clark and Downs scoured the city for properties and fell in love with Radio City—the townhouses and towers then proposed for Mutual Street south of Wellesley, on the site of the old CBC building. As journalists, they dug that it was all new but that the heritage buildings were going to be preserved. They responded to the feel of the artist’s renderings (boho and orderly at the same time) and got chills in the sales centre. But they couldn’t quite afford Radio City: for the 677-square-foot unit they coveted, on sale for $206,000, the developer wanted some $40,000 down. Undeterred, they wheedled a special deal to pay in instalments, and a 20th-floor suite was theirs. Standing beside a mock-up in the showroom when it all became official, Clark was overwhelmed. “They put the bought sticker on the unit,” she says, “and I started crying.”

The couple expected the building to be ready 18 months after the September 2002 purchase, but construction delays turned that into three years, time they spent cruising other loft projects to keep that new-home buzz going (“We’re addicted to sales centres,” Downs says). They loved the idea of creating their unit, tile by tile, each upgrade carefully assessed, cost versus benefit. They even spent four months stalking the perfect kitchen faucet: in an open space, every detail counts.

Now, several months after they moved in, they’re hopelessly house-proud in this, the first flush of ownership. Lifting the bed to show off how cleverly they’ve stored the board games beneath, Clark dislodges Mae, one of their two cats. Lowering the bed, she carefully smooths down the duvet. “We’re so excited to have a second room,” Downs adds, pointing to the den–slash–guest space, “but we don’t really know what to do with it.”

“The nicest thing is the ceiling,” says Clark, looking up at the bare concrete finish. “I didn’t want stucco. That’s a waste of the nine-and-a-half-foot ceilings! Can you believe they made us pay $600 extra to leave it the way it was?” Downs and Clark wanted the most they could get out of their little box in the sky. And they aren’t alone.

Toronto has become condo city. Almost four of every 10 new homes sold in 2004 were condominiums, up 13 per cent since 2003. Affordability is the fuel for this red-hot market, with interest rates still tempting and prices dropping from the intense competition. According to the Greater Toronto Home Builders’ Association, the average price for a new condominium in the GTA is $288,587 versus $387,369 for low-rise homes.

First-time buyers used to acquire older homes with the intention of fixing them up. But now it’s hard to find a decent fixer-upper for $300,000. According to a recent Century 21 Canada study on first-time homebuyers, this generation is shying away from costly renovations. Even if they can find something cheap and unique, how many 28-year-olds have an extra $75,000 kicking around to redo the kitchen, knock down a few walls and prop up a sagging foundation?

Condos offer choice in their price range: there are 50,000 units in development throughout the GTA, representing more than 235 projects, some still at the drawing board stage, some nearing completion. And for the design-conscious and consumer-savvy condo generation, there’s a unit for every customer. Buildings today are personality statements.

Condos have made the most obvious intrusion downtown—the corridor running from the lakeshore to just below Bloor, from Cabbagetown to the Exhibition. These units attract a new breed of city dweller: young women and men (or, as marketers like to say, those who see themselves as young) who are single and professional (they tend to have interesting and creative careers), rarely own a car and marry late, if at all. They’re self-starters; they take risks, have freedom and mobility, and aren’t suffering from too-much-stuff disease—at least from what you can see (many have gnarly storage lockers).

They want to be in the action; they groove on reclaimed urban areas (as opposed to the sterile park-underground units along Bay Street). They go out and use the city, mixing with like-minded consumers: there is a growing café society around Queen West West and King and Spadina in particular, where restaurants and nightclubs are within walking distance of prime loft zones. Galleries and hole-in-the-wall bars are supporting players. Condos also breed second-hand stores, avant-garde boutiques and dog groomers.

The designers, marketers and builders know how to pitch that white-wall-and-Eames-chair fantasy, and they know exactly who will swallow it. Each project is its own microcosm. From the outside, buyers may seem similar, but they categorize themselves into tiny subsets where little details mean a great deal. I like Prada, you like punk, the guy down the road has eyeglasses with too much personality. These first-timers are doing what they have been programmed to do: they are buying brands.