Whether we find ourselves in Tokyo, New York, or Paris today, we increasingly encounter the same buildings, the same materials, and the same colors. Upon entering these spaces, we struggle to perceive the differences or recognize their true essence.

Globalization has multiplied possibilities, yet our design choices are, paradoxically, erasing distinctions.

This is happening for several reasons. One, in particular, stems from the information overload we face via social networks, which bombard us with images and advertisements of interiors and homes that look increasingly alike.

So, what has happened?

We constantly see the same images and, without realizing it, begin to view them as the benchmark for what is beautiful, contemporary, and desirable. What was once original - clean lines, neutral colors, minimalist forms - has become a trend that has slowly morphed into a standard. It is a pattern that repeats endlessly.

What initially seemed new becomes familiar.

What becomes familiar becomes desirable.

And what becomes desirable is inevitably replicated.

We no longer necessarily design what we deem right for a specific place or person; instead, we begin to design what we have learned to recognize as “beautiful”.

I believe this represents the most subtle form of homogenization: a scenario where a model is not imposed upon us, but one we choose voluntarily.

In an interview with “Wired” magazine, British designer Thomas Heatherwick discusses a potential crisis in the construction sector, stating:

“We’ve just got so used to buildings that are boring”

He adds:

“New buildings, again and again, are too flat, too plain, too straight,

too shiny, too monotonous, too anonymous, too serious.

What happened?”

In his book “Humanise”, Heatherwick addresses these very issues, explaining that a flat surface, a straight line, or a glass façade is not necessarily ugly. On the contrary, each of these elements can be perfectly appropriate and even aesthetically striking.

The problem arises when they are repeatedly combined in the same way.

A building can be minimalist while still possessing character. It can be simple without being banal. It can be contemporary without being anonymous.

The issue lies not with minimalism itself, but with the fact that so many contemporary buildings seem to speak the same language; ultimately, they fail to tell a story about their location, serving merely to occupy the space.

We are all focused on themes such as sustainability, material recycling and reuse, energy efficiency, new technologies, innovation, and the reduction of environmental impact.

These are issues that design cannot ignore. Yet, by focusing on what can be measured, certified, and demonstrated, we risk overlooking something harder to quantify: beauty.

In the famous Vitruvian triad, architecture arises from the balance between “firmitas”, “utilitas”, and “venustas”: solidity, utility, and beauty.

And perhaps today we have become extraordinarily adept at addressing the first two.

But what has become of “venustas”?

Beauty is not a luxury. It is not necessarily decoration. It is not something to be added at the end of a project, once all other issues have been resolved.

Beauty can be proportion, rhythm, light, material, detail, color, or imperfection.

It can be silent.

It can be almost invisible.

And is this perhaps why we have begun to value it less? Because beauty cannot be measured?

“LESS IS MORE” is an extraordinarily powerful principle, yet it need not imply “less is better”, and certainly not “less imagination.”

Contemporary design does not need more objects or more decoration. It needs more personality, more courage, and more exploration. It needs us to ask ourselves not only “Is it functional?”, “Is it sustainable?”, or “Is it contemporary?”, but also: “Is it beautiful?”

Perhaps this is precisely where “venustas” can reclaim a role: not as mere ornament, but as an essential component of the design itself.