WHAT I’VE LEARNED FROM OLD HOMES
And adding soul to new construction
I’m working with a few clients whose homes were built after 2000: well-constructed homes with some nice detail and logical layouts that have been optimized for young families, but ones that are lacking a sense of soul and history. In Connecticut, many new builds borrow from traditional styles of local architecture (we have some of the best references in the country for beautiful old homes, after all), but unless they are done really thoughtfully, they are usually missing the real character and storied feeling of an old home.
I’ve been breaking down what gives old homes their charm and figuring out how to bring those qualities into something brand new. A lot of my research has been via late-night Zillow scrolls, comparing new and old listings across Connecticut, studying the new homes that could truly pass as old, looking at their floor plans and facades, and figuring out what makes them different.
One name I keep coming back to as a reference point is Gil Schafer (one of my all-time favs. Get all of his books if you don’t have them!). His work is my north star for how to design something new that feels like it’s been around forever. The Hamptons project he recently did with Rita Konig is an incredible example: a brand-new home with the soul of something that’s been around for centuries. In this case, a lot has to do with scale, and having that front facade feel like you’re entering a typical center hall colonial rather than a sprawling mansion.
I also came across this project in Birmingham by Pledger Architects (who worked for Gil Schafer) that nails the same idea. It’s one of the best examples I’ve seen of a new construction that doesn’t read as new. The proportions, materials, the flow of the house, the rooflines! — it feels like it’s been standing for generations. These, and some saved zillow finds, are the references I’ve been coming back to while building my own checklist of design moves that bring that sense of soul into something new, and here’s whats on that checklist.
It starts with scale. One of the biggest giveaways that a house is new is the scale. Soaring ceilings, oversized rooms, dramatic butterfly staircases in double-height entries can all feel more builder-grade (or McMansion-y) than timeless. Old homes tend to feel a little tighter and a little more human-scaled. The ceilings in a large living area might be higher and then change to a more intimate height in rooms that are meant to be more cozy. That’s not to say you shouldn’t build a home at the size/square footage you want, but consider the scale of each space on its own terms, and design for feeling over grandeur.
Let it ramble. Some of the best houses I’ve been in are the ones you get a little lost in. You’re trying to find your way back from the powder room and somehow end up in a cozy bar room or tucked-away library. It’s nice to have a little mystery and a sense of discovery as you move through the home, not being able to see everything from the front door, not knowing exactly what’s around the next corner. Older homes have this inherently because they were added onto in stages, or just evolved over time. They often weren’t designed all at once, and they’re better for it.
In new construction, I try not to default to the most obvious floor plan. I look for ways to break things up or create some separation of rooms. Open concept is often a dead giveaway of a newer home, but you can still get the flow and connection people want without knocking out every wall. Creating openings between rooms, using archways, or integrating pocket doors can help create that open flow while still giving each space its own identity.
Build in some oddities. Old houses don’t usually make perfect sense, and that’s part of what makes them good. There’s almost always something that makes you pause and wonder about the backstory. Things get funky, often because of what’s happening behind the walls or how the house was added onto over time, but those quirks can provide a lot of charm and delight.
In new homes, everything tends to make too much sense. Things are all orderly and perfectly logical, which is part of why they can feel flat or cookie-cutter. There’s no wondering why. So I try to create those unexpected moves in a new build… it could be a niche that doesn’t serve a clear function, a change in flooring or leveling from room to room, or some architectural detail that changes from space to space.
Materials are everything. Old homes have stood the test of time (physically and visually) because they were made from real stuff. Plaster walls, beautiful stone, real wood or metal that patinas. In new homes, there’s a tendency to opt for perfection and cost-efficiency over quality and how well something ages. LVP instead of hardwood. Quartz instead of marble. Vinyl instead of wood windows. And it makes sense when budget is tight, but it’s very hard to make a new home feel old when the materials haven’t been around for ages.
Lastly, the small things matter more than you think. Switch plates, vent covers, or door hardware: things you touch every day and add to the overall character of a room, but you don’t usually think about, can make a big impact. Sourcing from places that replicate historic styles, (House of Antique Hardware is one of my go-tos), can go a long way in helping a room feel more aged and less cookie-cutter.
These are a few of the lessons I’ll be taking with me into every new-build home I work on, to try and infuse that heritage quality that comes naturally with old homes. If I can get even a little closer to the lived-in timelessness Gil Schafer captures so well, I’ll consider it a success.