# Mexico City’s ‘Eco-Cops’ Are Now Trolling Airbnb Hosts By Leaving One-Star Reviews For Their Own Listings
You know how everyone’s been saying the housing market is a dystopian hellscape where your landlord can jack up rent because he painted the front door beige? Well, Mexico City just said "hold my horchata" and decided to fight back against gentrification with the most chaotic energy possible: **The government is now leaving bad Yelp reviews on Airbnb listings.**
I’m not even kidding. This is real. This is happening. And it’s the most unhinged, dark-humor-approved piece of urban policy since someone in Portland tried to ban single-use plastic straws by threatening to release raccoons into restaurants.
Here’s the setup: Mexico City’s housing crisis is, as the kids say, *“an absolute clown fiesta.”* Rents have gone up like 20% in some neighborhoods over the past year, locals are getting priced out of their own childhood homes, and everyone’s pointing fingers at the usual suspects: short-term rentals like Airbnb and VRBO that turn entire apartment buildings into glorified hotels for Instagram influencers who want to film themselves crying over a $2 taco.
So what did the city government do? Did they pass a law limiting short-term rentals? Did they actually build affordable housing? Did they do literally anything that makes sense from a policy perspective?
LOL. No. They hired a bunch of people to become the world’s most petty vigilantes.
According to a report from *Rest of World* (and yes, I had to read it three times to make sure I wasn’t having a stroke), Mexico City’s **“Eco-Cops”** — a division of the city’s environmental and urban development office that normally deals with things like illegal dumping and noise complaints — have started a new side hustle: **trolling Airbnb hosts by booking their properties, writing scathing one-star reviews, and then reporting them to the tax authorities.**
The logic? If you can’t regulate them out of existence, you can shame them into submission. Or, as one official reportedly said, *“We want to make the experience of being a short-term rental host as miserable as possible.”*
And I have to admit, that energy? **Undeniable.**
Here’s how it works, per the report: The Eco-Cops will pose as regular guests, book a night at a suspicious Airbnb — usually one that’s been flagged by neighbors for turning the building into a revolving door of drunk tourists — and then they show up. They don’t party. They don’t even sleep. They just… observe. They check if the host is violating local zoning laws. They check if the unit is registered with the city (spoiler: most aren’t). They check if the Wi-Fi password is “gentrify_me_daddy.”
And then, when the booking ends, they leave a review. Not a glowing one. Not a “great location, but the shower pressure was weak.” No, these are *spite reviews*. Think: “1 star. The host is contributing to the displacement of local families. Also, the toilet paper was single-ply. Disgusting.”
The exact wording in the report from one actual Eco-Cop review: *“The apartment is beautiful, but we cannot recommend it. The host is participating in the destruction of our neighborhood. Also, the neighbor’s dog barked at 3 AM. Unacceptable.”*
That’s right. They’re docking stars for gentrification AND a dog that was probably just trying to live its life. This is peak “Karen energy” mixed with “I’ve watched too many episodes of *The Wire*.”
Now, before you start screaming “this is government overreach!” or “what about the property rights of a guy who bought a condo in 2019 and now wants to pay his mortgage by renting it out to a guy from Ohio who calls tacos ‘tay-coes’?” — let’s pump the brakes. This is Mexico City we’re talking about. The same city where people have literally protested gentrification by throwing paint on neon signs and where the phrase “for the locals” is treated like a religious text. The housing situation is *bad*. We’re talking “a studio apartment in the Condesa neighborhood now costs more than my soul” bad.
According to data from the Mexican real estate site Propiedades.com, the number of Airbnb listings in Mexico City has skyrocketed by something like 300% in the past five years. Meanwhile, rents for permanent residents have doubled in some areas. Locals are getting squeezed out of neighborhoods like Roma and La Condesa — places that used to be artsy and affordable but are now basically Williamsburg with better weather and worse brunch lines.
So yeah, the city is desperate. And when you’re desperate, you don’t reach for the sensible policy lever. You reach for the “let’s fight fire with fire, but also with a bad review about the fire being insufficiently comfortable” lever.
The obvious question: Is this even legal? Short answer: It’s Mexico. “Legal” is a suggestion, not a rule. But the city’s argument is that these Eco-Cops are just exercising their First Amendment rights — well, their Mexican equivalent — to leave honest reviews. And technically, they are being honest. They honestly think your Airbnb is ruining the neighborhood. That’s their opinion. And opinions are like… well, you know the rest.
Of course, the Airbnb hosts are *pissed*. One host interviewed by *Rest of World* said, *“This is harassment. They’re abusing their power to hurt my business. I’m just a guy trying to make a living.”* And sure, I get that. If my side hustle was renting out a spare room and some government bureaucrat came in, sniffed my throw pillows, and then wrote “1 star: The host is a gentrifier” — I’d be mad too.
But also… bro, you’re making $5,000 a month off a property that used to be someone’s grandmother’s apartment. The sympathy well is shallow.
Final Thoughts
After wading through the tangled bureaucracy and the ceaseless hum of its traffic, it becomes clear that Mexico City isn't a place you simply visit; it's a force that rewires your perception of urban life. For all its chaos and the lingering shadow of its colonial wounds, the city’s raw resilience—expressed in its street food, its murals, and its stubborn refusal to be subdued—offers a masterclass in how not just to survive, but to thrive amid the friction. In the end, you leave not feeling like a tourist, but like a witness to a living, breathing palimpsest of history, art, and humanity, indelibly marked by its profound, messy truth.