The state of design writing

Featuring an excerpt from the new issue of Untapped Journal—plus, tissue boxes so good you'll weep

This issue is a quick one, in between SAUNA MONTH dispatches. Next week I’ll finally be sharing the details on just how far down the rabbithole I went when my husband and I decided to build a sauna, from the ground up, in our backyard.

Unrelated to theme months, I have a request for you, dear readers: A couple of years back, I became well and truly obsessed with documenting house numbers. That tendency, while slightly dormant, is always going to be a thing with me since it combines the two abiding themes of my career and thus life: buildings and typography. Anyway, the ask is this: Send me any good house numbers you spot in the wild. (No photo too shitty!) You can email me directly by replying to this newsletter, or DM me.

Write like you mean it

Let’s just get this out of the way: I’ve read some abysmal design writing out there lately. It’s not design writing in any strict sense, of course—it might be coded as styling, or a description of taste, or personal style vis-a-vis one’s home—but what so often attempts poetry quickly spirals into an AI satire of design snobbery:

“Silence. I’m very influenced by silence.”
“Taste feels like a whisper.”

Gnomic statements like this represent either high camp, machine learning, or complete windbaggery. Joke’s on me that I’m not sure which.

Then there’s the internet tendency to point out and link and note without analysis—something I’ve been guilty of myself. (A reliable way to break that habit is click less, spend time wondering, and then read actual books for research. Works every time.) I don’t want a link to the vintage Claire McCardell dress without a thoughtful interview with the author of the defining book on Claire McCardell, you know??!

The good news is, solid writing is there if you know where to find it. For one, SVA paterfamilias Steven Heller and longtime SVA D.Crit program chair Molly Heintz have published The Education of a Design Writer, a book of essays for the expert or layperson interested in how one communicates while “critiquing, explaining, discovering, introducing, and interpreting a piece of design.” Chapter 7, “Making It Personal”, should be required reading for anyone tempted to write about their own Relationship To Design On The Internet For Public Consumption™️.

I have also been loving every successive issue of Untapped, a design journal edited by Tiffany Jow that is, notably, bankrolled by Henrybuilt, purveyor of chic, highly-crafted custom kitchens. Kudos to Henrybuilt that it seemingly exercises zero editorial oversight of the publication. Untapped has integrity through editorial freedom, and the topics covered are wide-ranging, always fascinating, and a lively mix.

Untapped’s third print issue comes out on October 29, and features writing by Kate Wagner, Edwin Heathcote (an amazing piece on architecture jargon), Diana Budds, and Sarah Archer, with contributions by photographer Charlie Schuck, designers Jonathan Nesci and Mira Nakashima, artist Michele Oka Doner, and architects Carol Ross Barney and Craig L. Wilkins.

Wagner—a critic FKA McMansion Hell, who was a frequent contributor back in ye olde days of Curbed—does her thing very astutely, assessing how the nostalgia trap of the trend cycle is coming for the McMansions too. Here, an exclusive excerpt:

The 2000s are unique in history because, especially with regard to content from the internet at that time, such images are harder to come by due to the earlier digital turn itself; much of that period has disappeared into defunct websites and broken USB drives. Architecture, then, becomes one of the only lasting and easily available testimonies to the way things were.

This practice of recontextualization, however, is not new. I remember the early days of Tumblr and Pinterest, when millennials pioneered the taxonomic assimilation of images into “aesthetics” so as to collate the ephemeral images of their youth. These were almost overwhelmingly images of postmodern architecture, which had a rich and extensive print culture more conducive to projects of digital archiving. The mention of postmodernism is itself important, because it was the last cohesive aesthetic and ideological movement in the field. What came after ranged from deconstructivism to pixelated high-rises to minimalism. If you are looking to feel nostalgic toward the architecture of the aughts, the McMansion, despite (or perhaps because of) its simultaneous elite and vernacular status, was one of the only architectural symbols ubiquitous within mass culture, from rap videos to television shows like The Sopranos.

But perhaps the most simple reason why McMansionism has acquired a forgiving sheen is because, like the girl in the TikTok said, new mass-produced houses in the United States are sterile now. 2 Along with the celebrity house, the McMansion was the apotheosis of the idea that “making it” in life could be rewarded with architectural individuality. Down with the starter home, up with the dream house. Despite the pejorative, McMansions’ customized interiors, layouts, and the pursuit of an ever-lengthening laundry list of amenities, gave each one its idiosyncratic (albeit inflated) form. Indeed, the more amenities—pools, theaters, bars, gyms—the house possessed, the closer it was to the “dream home” ideal, and the relation of value and size was an unshakable one.

The American home, although always considered a personal investment, was not yet culturally thought of as an illiquid financial asset, the built equivalent of stocks or bonds, but was instead considered an extension of the self. The Great Recession changed this mindset, in part because the financialization of housing became normalized, and in part because its wreckage left millions of vacant or foreclosed properties that could be flipped and sold at a profit, which itself became a considerable national pastime. Housing scarcity, especially in cities, only exacerbated this motive, which saw houses not as places people experienced their lives, but as mere financial instruments.

In this shift, the concept of home lost a critical characteristic: personalization. This might lie at the core of what Gen Z longs for. Tacky décor and fun or cozy interiors might be cringe, but they reflect the personalities and lifestyles of the people who chose them: their daily rituals, preferences, needs, and desires, problematic or not. These homes, missing from a majority of design media, are carefully tailored containers of life, spaces designed and accentuated with things that make its inhabitants feel good to use and experience—which can incidentally make for compelling photos, since this kind of stuff doesn’t follow trends. It’s an expression of the person who lives there. The ultra-customization of the McMansion was seen as a form of self-actualization. No one was thinking about selling such houses before even building them. Building them was the point.

Read the full essay by Kate Wagner in Untapped Journal’s Print Edition 003:
$17 + shipping for blue-chip design writing, available for purchase here as of October 29.

Odds and ends

Friends are always asking me for leads on the good [insert common household typology here]. Sometimes I’m a bad pal and don’t respond for nearly three years, as in the case of the several very serviceable tissue boxes I’ve come across and never sent to one particular friend. Sorry, Amy.

Amy’s loss is your win, just in time for winter cold season! Clockwise from top left: This one comes in 28 (!) colors, $36 from Mochi Things. The hinoki wood tissue box cover from Nicky Kehoe smells as divine as it looks ($60). The felted wool tissue box cover by Graf Lantz looks like a hug ($37.50). Hender Scheme, a Japanese brand, makes gorgeous folded leather covers (this one is $90 from Nalata Nalata). For the classicist, a ceramic topper from Kassatex ($40). Last but certainly not least—and my personal pick—folded galvanized steel from Fog Linen, a screamin’ deal at $30, available at All Purpose.

Just a few links for this issue, because as I’ve mentioned many times before, it’s SAUNA MONTH and I can’t leave a wet stone unturned… Bookmark these:

Sweat Etiquette Epidemic

Let's get wet and sweat

Bathing in the World's Oldest Bathhouse, Operating Continuously Since Roman Times

Japan's magnificent bathing obsession

Thanks for reading + see you next week.

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Speaking of design writing—there’s a lot to mine in the Ground Condition vault. I’m cracking it open for a limited time, and if you like what you’re reading, consider upgrading to a paid subscription. Otherwise, ❤️, share, or comment on this post—it all helps!