Getting Your Style Right: A Language, Not a Costume

We’ve all seen it.

The modern farmhouse with a Roman arch. The faux French chateau with a Craftsman porch. The “traditional” home with windows too wide, trim too skinny, and shutters that couldn’t possibly close.

Somewhere in the frenzy of Pinterest boards, product catalogs, and builder-driven design, we’ve lost track of what style really is. We treat it like clothing—something we can swap, mix, or accessorize on a whim.

But style isn’t a costume.

Style is a language. And it has to be spoken fluently to make sense.

Style Isn’t the Starting Point—It’s the Expression

Most people approach style as a starting point: “I want my house to be Colonial Revival” or “I love Tudor” or “We’re going modern.”

But in truth, style is what emerges when deeper decisions are made correctly.

It grows from:

• Proper massing

• Clear hierarchy

• Thoughtful proportion

• Contextual material choices

You can’t just slap some exposed beams and dark siding on a house and call it “mountain modern.” That’s vocabulary without grammar. Accent without substance. Style only works when it’s the visible outgrowth of structural and spatial decisions made with intention.

How Style Lost Its Way

To understand the confusion around style today, we need to take a brief look at how we got here.

Traditional Styles (pre-1900s to early 20th century)

For centuries, architectural styles evolved slowly and regionally. Georgian, Federal, Greek Revival, Victorian, Shingle, Tudor, and Craftsman styles each had their own rules, precedents, and cultural logic. A home’s style was tied to its geography, material availability, and building tradition. Homes made sense—visually and culturally.

Modernism (early 20th century – 1960s)

Modernism rejected historical styles altogether. Ornament was deemed unnecessary. Form followed function. White walls, flat roofs, industrial materials, and abstract shapes took over. At its best, modernism brought clarity and honesty. At its worst, it discarded the human scale and erased cultural memory.

The 1970s: Strange Experiments

In the ‘70s, things got weird. Modernism lost its grip, but there was no clear replacement. Builders and designers began combining shapes and styles with little historical grounding. Split-levels, earth tones, low ceilings, and odd geometry dominated. Architecture became more about experimentation than clarity.

Postmodernism (1980s)

The ‘80s brought a strange attempt to reintroduce “style” as surface. Architects layered historic references on top of modern forms—archways, columns, pastels, checkerboard patterns—without structural logic. It was playful but superficial. Style became ironic rather than rooted.

1990s–2000s: The Era of No Style

As tract home developments boomed, style became a marketing feature more than a design decision. Builders mashed up styles to appeal to broader markets: a little Craftsman here, a little French Country there. Elevations became catalog collages. The result? A generation of homes that looked styled but felt soulless.

Today: Style as Hashtag

Now we live in the age of the “Modern Farmhouse,” “Rustic Coastal,” and “Organic Scandinavian Transitional.” Style has become fragmented, flattened, and Instagrammed. It's no longer connected to place, proportion, or purpose. It’s a mood board.

Mixing Styles Isn’t Creative—It’s Confusing

There’s a trend (especially in American residential design) to “blend” styles. A little Mediterranean. A little Prairie. Maybe a Modern Farmhouse twist. Add shutters. Add stone. Add steel.

The result is usually confusion. Not richness. Not creativity. Just noise.

Why? Because each style has its own rules—its own internal logic that makes it coherent. When you blend two styles without understanding either, you break both. It takes real skill to blend ingredients into a new recipe. There are some architects and residential designers out there that do it magnificently, but under untrained talent, things go wrong.

You can’t mix languages unless you’re fluent in both.

A good architect may evolve a style or draw influence from several traditions—but they do it with intention, clarity, and control. The result isn’t chaos. It’s consistency with depth.

Style Should Come From Context, Not Convenience

Style doesn’t just come from taste. It comes from context—climate, region, material availability, historical precedent.

There’s a reason adobe homes work in the Southwest but not in Vermont. There’s a reason Georgian symmetry feels grounded in the American South, while asymmetrical stone cottages feel right in the English countryside.

When we choose style based only on personal preference or trend, we often choose something that fights the place it lives in. However, contextualism in so many places in the world is not helped by the fact that most homes on the planet have been built in the last 60 years when style was no longer relevant which also makes most context irrelevant. If we aim for beauty and try to design for regional historical context, that is our best guiding star.

That doesn’t mean we’re stuck copying the past. It means we’re called to build with memory, not in denial of it.

Getting Style Right Is an Act of Respect

When a style is done well—when it’s executed with discipline and understanding—it does more than look good.

• It respects the past

• It reinforces a sense of place

• It offers clarity, not confusion

• It participates in a long tradition of building well

People know when a house “feels right,” even if they can’t explain why. That’s style, properly done—not for effect, but for meaning.

So How Do You Choose the Right Style?

You don’t start by asking what you like. You start by asking:

• Where is this home? What’s the climate, culture, landscape, and building tradition?

• What’s the massing? What form feels appropriate to the site and program?

• What’s the client’s true need? Not just aesthetic preferences, but how they want the home to live.

• What traditions already exist here? What can be learned from nearby historic homes?

Once those questions are answered, style becomes clear. It’s not chosen. It’s revealed.

Don’t Be Afraid to Commit

The biggest mistake you can make with style is hedging. Trying to cover all your bases. Adding a feature “just in case.”

Architecture doesn’t work that way.

A house that’s fully committed to its style—even if simple—is always better than a house that’s trying to be all things to all people.

Whatever you choose—mean it.

Style Is Not What You Wear. It’s What You Speak.

In the end, style isn’t what your house “wears.”It’s what your house says—and whether it’s saying it clearly, consistently, and with confidence.

When style is applied like fashion, the home feels insecure. It needs accessories to prove its identity. But when style grows from form, structure, and place, it has nothing to prove.

It speaks with quiet conviction—and that’s what timelessness sounds like.

Final Thoughts: Clarity Over Cleverness

There’s no prize for cleverness in architecture. Only clarity. Coherence. Care.

The homes we remember—photograph, study, love—are rarely the most complex. They are the most consistent.They are clear in their identity. And that clarity begins with getting the style right.

If you're designing a home—or evaluating one—don’t ask, “Does it look good?”

Ask: “Does it make sense?” “Does it belong?” “Does it speak one language—or several all at once?”

If the answers are yes, you’re not just on trend. You’re on solid ground.