Architecture as a field has always been captivated by the houses of the elite - those who can hire architects, build large and high quality homes, and set trends for the next generations. While it is always enjoyable to look at street after street of high-profile houses and marvel at their fine execution and intricate architectural details, we must keep in mind that these houses are not where most of us live.
Not until the latter half of the 20th century have architectural historians paid attention to the houses of the working and middle classes. This is partially due to the way architectural history has been studied since the Enlightenment as a scientific investigation of a rational, organic, evolutionary progression of different styles across time.
However this is a rather narrow view of how buildings work, and one that is architect-specific. The overall pool of examples considered to be architecturally significant pales in comparison to the total number of buildings we visit, work, and live in.
Architectural history and preservation have always preferred buildings left virtually untouched and in pristine condition. For most of us, our houses are not museums - they are places we live - places that grow as we grow. We build additions, decks, and other secondary structures; we enclose our porches in order to add a dining room; we redecorate to our tastes and the styles of today.
Most people live in houses that have been repeated in some form - whether its ‘tract’ housing, prefabricated homes, or rowhouses in cities, we live in places we can afford, with varying degrees of customization to give these homes a touch of our own style.
For as long as they’ve existed, these houses have been derided as the sterility of ‘mass culture.’ I’m sure we’re all familiar with the song “Little Boxes.” This is, ultimately, an elitist critique. The truth is, not everyone can afford an architect. (Though, to be fair, hiring an architect is more feasible than most people think it is.) Still, when so many struggle to put a roof over their and their family’s heads, it is more than a little disingenuous to say that the accommodations of normal people is “not architecture.”
McMansions are so disappointing to us because they are the homes of the upper and upper-middle classes who used to build houses that were interesting, that set the stylistic trends later codified by architectural history. While they are now included in guides like A Field Guide to American Houses, the usual objectivity is put aside, replaced with an air of disdain, as if to say “this is the best you could come up with?”
In some ways, McMansions have leveled the playing ground of architectural discourse. The wealthy are no longer the tastemakers - they can’t be relied on to build the best looking houses anymore. Their new housing is no longer considered rife for architectural preservation in the same way it was earlier in the 20th century.
In this landscape, a shift in the discussion to the houses of the rest of us seems warranted. People want to know what’s special about the houses they live in, and the fact those of us in architecture cannot give them an answer most of the time is perhaps why so few people are interested in architecture to begin with. It is a playing field that exists beyond their means.
The goal of this blog was to use a type of housing everyone is familiar and emotionally invested in (read: angry about) to teach people about architecture, or at least develop within them an architectural sense of humor.
The truth is, our houses are interesting and they are worthy of the same kind of attention as rambling Queen Annes and expansive, Georgian estates.
