In my own childhood home, the formal living room was far from brand specific. Nobody was confusing our furniture with anything that had arrived on a boat from Italy. We did, however, have an upright piano, set against a wall of veined mirror tiles. Directly across from that sat a used, blue velvet couch that my mom had recovered piece by piece over the course of a year. The room was luxuriously illuminated by a giant avocado green swag lamp which hung from a chain in the corner, and hovered over a high-backed, gold colored, velvet chair edged in brass nail heads. As children, we did not hold the qualifications to enter this room. Nobody did. It was for the purpose of feigning to visitors that our family of 11 lived a life of quiet elegance and impeccable manners. No one needed to know that we were all in the kitchen fighting over the marshmallows in a box of Lucky Charms.

The formal living room isn’t the only space in some of the homes I show either. Although my childhood home didn’t have one, some of my more “well-off” friends (which would have been everyone in the neighborhood), had formal dining rooms as well. This second special room, pulled into service roughly twice a year for the major holidays, required its own collection of fine furniture. There was the long maple dining table with matching chairs, of course, along with a china cabinet displaying dishes passed down through generations that emerged twice a year for Thanksgiving and Christmas before being carefully returned to captivity for the other 363 days. For my own family, we simply covered the ping-pong table with unmatched cloth table coverings and borrowed folding chairs from the church for the two major holidays.

Houses have always had spaces that looked fantastic on a floor plan but didn’t necessarily have much to do with the way people actually lived. About a decade or so ago, buyers finally started to call our bluff. That is why we generally only see these rooms in homes built before the current century. Newer homes have fewer rooms waiting around for special occasions and more square footage devoted to everyday life. The formal living room has been replaced by the home office. The tiny pantry has become a room of its own. Laundry rooms have grown from a washer and dryer stuffed behind folding doors into spaces with cabinets, sinks and countertops. Mudrooms have cubbies, hooks, benches and charging stations.

Apparently, we’ve finally admitted that storing Costco toilet paper is more important to our daily happiness than having a special room available in case the Queen drops by. And I’m not sure we’re wrong. There’s something a little ridiculous about spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on a house and then dedicating 200 square feet of it to a room everyone walks past. That is very expensive real estate. Especially now. At today’s price per square foot, that formal living room isn’t just sitting there looking pretty — which may explain why homeowners have started giving these forgotten rooms entirely new lives.

I’ve seen former formal living rooms turned into offices, libraries, playrooms, music rooms, homework rooms and even workout spaces. Dining rooms have become offices. Closets have become workstations. Spare bedrooms have become gyms. We are not so worried about what the builder may have been thinking at the time the original floor plan was put into play. We are now much more interested in whether the square footage can be used in a more workable manner. In truth, that is the bigger change.

For years, houses dictated how we were supposed to live: This is a formal living room, we do formal activities here. The is the dining room, not the kitchen. Never mind that nobody has eaten in this room since Thanksgiving of 2003. That was its assigned purpose and changing it will at least require congressional approval. Not anymore. We are no longer waiting for permission from whatever powers that be to change the purpose of these rooms. We are taking back our square footage. We will do with it what we please. We are rebelling. Some of us may even put a treadmill in the former dining room. Radical? Of course. Practical? Absolutely.

Houses should work for the people living in them, not for the imaginary dinner party or the possibility that the governor might unexpectedly pop in. Let him judge.

In my house, there is no carpet. We would have spilled on it. Every piece of furniture can be sat on by anyone, and there isn’t a single pillow that requires special positioning after someone gets up. The dishes in the cupboard are the dishes we eat from. Nothing is waiting behind glass for Thanksgiving, royalty or a particularly impressive guest.

I’ve reached the point where I want every square foot of my house to earn its keep. If there’s a chair, sit in it. If there’s a room, use it. If there’s a dish, put spaghetti on it. A house is supposed to be lived in, and living is occasionally messy.

Besides, if the governor does show up unexpectedly, he’s welcome to sit anywhere he wants. I’m just not putting down carpet for him. Besides that, he best make himself comfortable because I have some questions.

Jen Fischer is an associate broker and Realtor. She can be reached at 801-645-2134 or jen@jen-fischer.com.