That enormous house on the hill – we've all seen it. It's the one that we stop and gawk at and think how in the world does one live in such a big eyesore?
From Houghton to Bishop's Court, most affluent suburbs have what the US has dubbed McMansions.
It all started with an ongoing gag in the TV show Arrested Development about the home of the Bluths, the family around which the comedy revolves.
A fake French chateau, the house stands forlorn on a muddy plot. Its construction is shoddy: Viewers see cracks spiderweb across the interior walls, and pieces of trim fall off at random. Michael, the responsible Bluth sibling, tries in vain to finish the development. He asks his teenage son about choosing a name for it.
The Bluths' house is what people call a McMansion. Bigger than the average home and nodding in style to the homes of the nobility – whether French chateaus, Spanish villas or early American plantation houses – it gets its unkind prefix for being built to a generic plan with mass-produced materials, not unlike the hamburgers at a certain fast-food chain.
McMansions are concentrated in the "sudden valleys" of fast-rising suburban housing tracts. They've become a familiar sight across the US, embodying our quest for that all-American paradox of affordable luxury, yet also frequently criticized for unsound construction and tacky design.
Botero Custom Home's French Manor IV. Photo courtesy of Botero Custom Homes
"It's big, it's bulky, it's garish," is how Chris Landis, an architect and custom builder in Washington, D.C., sums up the classic McMansion to the Washington Post. "It tends to use cheaper materials. Sometimes the front will be brick, but you go right around the side, and it's aluminum siding."
"McMansions Define Ugly in a New Way: They're a Bad Investment," proclaimed Bloomberg. "As demographics change, McMansions don't look quite so appealing," declared a headline in The Washington Post.
A blog called Welcome to McMansion Hell recently went viral. The concept behind it is simple. Blogger Kate Wagner takes photos of McMansions in the wild (or finds them online), then annotates them in Photoshop, pointing out flaws with ruthless snark.
"I thought there was a vaccine for smallpox?" she quips of a ceiling cratered with recessed lights. A mock turret is dubbed a "Pringles can of shame."
Wagner's "Certified Dank" McMansions are the architectural equivalent of celebrity mug shots: so gruesome you can't look away. Windows of every shape and size jostle together and random roofs proliferate. Oversize doorways gape as if they're screaming. Inside, rooms drip with "brass and glass" and are beige, beige, beige.
The foyer and double staircase of a Henley Traditional model home at Trotters Glen, a Toll Brothers subdivision in Olney. Photo courtesy of Eric Kieley
The McMansion 101 series on McMansion Hell offers insights into why the houses are off-putting.
As opposed to the symmetry of, say, a classic Colonial-style house – with the front door in the middle and windows placed evenly on either side – McMansions have irregular features that confuse the eye. Their entrances tend to be bombastic, with stretched columns or oversize pediments (or both). They mash up disparate architectural styles with little regard for geography or history.
Features such as the kitchen inside the Henley Traditional model home at Trotters Glen in Olney, Md., are designed to wow visitors. Photo courtesy of Eric Kieley
Sally Augustin, an environmental psychologist, points out key design features that aren't amenable to human comfort.
The typical foyer and "great room" are not cosy, but quite formal, due to the high ceilings. Non-rectangular rooms, another McMansion staple, "can be stress-inducing," Augustin says. "Where do you put the furniture?"