Freddie deBoer challenges a pervasive cultural narrative: that modern architecture is ugly because we have lost the ability to build beautifully. Instead, he argues we have simply chosen to build for efficiency and cost, ignoring a fundamental human desire for ornamentation that persists even in our most elite institutions.
The Myth of Cost and the Reality of Preference
The piece begins by dismantling the common defense used by urban planners and housing activists: that decoration is a luxury we can no longer afford. deBoer writes, "It turns out that it's simply not true that building stylish and ornamented buildings is relatively more expensive today than it was in eras past." He acknowledges the reality of Baumol's cost disease, noting that construction remains labor-intensive, but points out that modern logistics and automated production should have lowered the barrier for embellishment, not raised it.
This reframing is crucial. It shifts the blame from economic necessity to a failure of will or imagination. The author suggests that the prevailing "Late International" or "Glass Box" style is not an inevitable result of progress, but a specific aesthetic choice that prioritizes the sterile uniformity of global bureaucracy over local identity. As deBoer puts it, this style is "the corporation in building form," a "soul-crushing assembly line of sterile glass monoliths that erases local identity."
Critics might argue that while ornamentation is possible, the speed and density required to solve the housing crisis necessitate the simplest, most repeatable designs. However, deBoer counters this by highlighting the market reality: people are willing to pay a premium for beauty. He notes that while housing in modern developments like Hudson Yards is expensive, it is "barely tolerated" compared to the aspirational, century-old neighborhoods of Park Slope. The evidence suggests that aesthetics are not a distraction from housing needs, but a driver of their value.
The Power of "Fake" History
The commentary then pivots to a fascinating case study: Yale University. deBoer uses the campus to illustrate that humans are wired to pursue beauty, even when that beauty is historically inauthentic. He observes that Yale's Old Campus, which looks like a medieval city, was largely built after the Civil War, designed specifically to mimic the "Oxbridge" fashion of England. "Yale was built to look old," deBoer writes, describing the style as "symbolic, or aspirational, or postmodern, or perhaps fraudulent."
The author argues that this "fakery" works because it satisfies an emotional need. Students and visitors do not care that the gargoyles and Gothic arches are 20th-century additions; they care that the environment feels timeless and grand. This connects to the broader historical context of the New Urbanism movement, which similarly seeks to recreate the walkable, human-scale streets of pre-automobile towns, proving that the desire for traditional aesthetics is a powerful, enduring force in urban planning.
"Their fakery is real."
The strength of deBoer's analysis here lies in his admission of the tension. He acknowledges that the new residential colleges, built in the 2010s to match the old style, often fail because the attempt to simulate age is too obvious. The "cracked" windows and artificially yellowed glass highlight the newness of the buildings rather than hiding it. He notes, "The efforts to make the new buildings look old have a way of underlining the fact that they're not." This serves as a warning: while we can build beautiful things, we cannot easily fake the patina of time without creating a sense of disquiet.
The Failure of Modernist Dogma
The piece also critiques the ideological rigidity of the online "Yes In My Backyard" (YIMBY) movement, which often dismisses aesthetic concerns as decadent. deBoer characterizes these detractors as "incurious, rude, reductive, and above all else, tribal." He argues that they treat the demand for beauty as a zero-sum game against the need for shelter, a false dichotomy that hinders progress.
The author points to the failure of the mid-20th-century modernist experiment at Yale as proof that this dogma is flawed. When the university built two new colleges in the 1950s using the neo-futurist style of Eero Saarinen, the result was a "sore thumb" that students hated and alumni refused to fund. The administration learned a hard lesson: "When Yale again expanded in the mid-2010s, they were determined not to make that same mistake." They returned to the Gothic style, realizing that the brand's value lay in its traditional grandeur. This mirrors the historical trajectory of Value Engineering, where the relentless drive to cut costs and remove "unnecessary" features often results in a product that is cheaper to build but less valuable to the user.
Bottom Line
deBoer's most compelling argument is that the death of beautiful architecture is a choice, not an economic inevitability, and that ignoring this choice alienates the public. The piece's greatest vulnerability is its reliance on the success of elite institutions like Yale, which have the resources to build "fake" history, a luxury not available to affordable housing projects. Yet, the core insight remains vital: if we want people to accept new construction, we must build it in a way that resonates with their deep, often irrational, desire for beauty.
"We are wired to pursue beauty. We are not, however, wired to pursue authenticity."
The strongest part of this argument is the empirical observation that people pay more for beautiful neighborhoods, regardless of the historical accuracy of the buildings. The biggest vulnerability is the assumption that the cost of ornamentation is negligible in a crisis of affordability, a point that requires more nuanced economic data to fully resolve. Readers should watch for how this tension between aesthetic desire and housing urgency plays out in future zoning debates.