I recently posted on Facebook about my complete distaste for the black-and-white houses coming out of flippers. We’ve all seen them. White houses, black trim, black roof. But then you walk inside… light floors, white walls, white trim, black-and-white tile or details in the kitchen, maybe a black accent wall. White shaker cabinets.
The average flipped house can be spotted from a mile away. Flippers without the vision or design experience, doing what every other flipper is doing. “Buyers are buying them up!” “Whatever sells!” But is this really what buyers want? And how did we even get here?
Without a doubt, I can drive anywhere within a five-mile radius and spot houses that have recently been flipped. How do I know? It's the color palette.
For a while, it was grey. Grey everything. Grey floors, grey walls, grey cabinets. It was like an entire sea of grey blah. Thankfully, it seems over the last five years or so that trend has tapered down into the lower-budget flips and out of the middle-class America price range. But what's been the replacement? Because we know people need a trend to follow diligently.
For middle-class America, design trends seem to be stuck a decade or more in the past, somewhere in the Chip and Joanna Gaines era of "modern farmhouse." Investors convinced this is the new updated look. Colonials being wrapped to resemble farmhouses. McMansion farmhouses popping up in the suburbs. Black-and-white ranches tucked into established red-brick neighborhoods.
And that's where my real issue comes in. It's not necessarily the black and white. It's the complete lack of consideration for the house itself.
Architecture used to have an identity. A house had a style, a setting, a relationship with the neighborhood around it. There was some thought put into how the materials worked together, how the home sat on the lot, how it related to the landscape and even the era in which it was built.
I like to think back to Frank Lloyd Wright, when we were designing homes to make sense in their surroundings. Homes that worked with the slopes and natural features of the land, that actually made architectural sense. Stone, wood, brick. Rich materials, thoughtful design, and simplicity.
There was an appreciation for the relationship between the home and its environment. The architecture wasn't just a box sitting on a lot. It was part of the landscape. The materials had purpose. The design had intention.
Now, it seems we've decided that good design is simply taking whatever is trending on Pinterest, Instagram, or the latest HGTV renovation and applying it to every house we touch.
A 1960s ranch, a 1920s brick colonial, a mid-century home, and a newer suburban build are all getting some variation of the same treatment. White paint, black windows, black fixtures, LVP floors, white cabinets. Different architecture, same personality.
It's a sterile nod at "living well." Everything is clean, everything is updated, everything is neutral. And somehow, everything looks exactly the same.
We've confused updating a house with giving it character. We've confused expensive finishes with good design. And we've confused what is currently popular with what is actually timeless.
I don't think every renovation needs to be some grand architectural statement. I'm not suggesting every investor needs to hire an architect or source reclaimed European stone for a $200,000 flip. But there is a difference between being budget-conscious and being completely void of creativity.
Good design doesn't necessarily mean expensive design. Sometimes it's simply understanding what you have and working with it instead of against it. Preserving original details where they make sense. Choosing materials that complement the architecture. Using colors that belong together rather than defaulting to whatever combination is currently selling. Understanding that a house doesn't need to look like every other renovated house to appeal to a buyer.
Somehow, we went from these beautiful brick and stone beauties to vinyl-sided white-and-black monstrosities, all crammed onto lots they barely fit on, standing out like a sore thumb. And it's not just the houses themselves. It's the neighborhoods. When every home is renovated using the same formula, we lose the visual diversity that makes neighborhoods interesting in the first place.
A neighborhood full of different architectural styles, materials, colors, and details has character. It tells a story. It reflects different periods of design and the people who built it. We don't need every house to match, and we certainly don't need every house to look like it was renovated by the same investor.
Real estate investors, especially flippers, have an interesting opportunity here. We touch hundreds of houses and influence what our neighborhoods look like for decades. Yet so many approach design as nothing more than a checklist of finishes that will photograph well and get buyers through the door.
I understand the business. I've flipped houses. I understand budgets, margins, resale value, and the need to appeal to buyers. But somewhere along the way, we've allowed the business of selling houses to completely overshadow the art of making them beautiful, and I've been guilty of this too.
I think we're doing buyers a disservice in the process. Buyers don't necessarily want another black-and-white house. They want a home that feels good, that has warmth, that feels intentional. They want something that doesn't look like the last five houses they toured.
What's actually "in" then?
Neutrals have made a comeback over the last few years, but the focus has shifted toward earth tones, color drenching, and layered textures. Think textured walls, materials like Cemcrete, grasscloth wallpapers, natural stone, and warm wood tones becoming the new luxury among the sea of LVP.
Even the exterior design trends being reported now seem to support this shift. A recent House Beautiful article on 2027 curb appeal trends points to a growing preference for natural materials, warmer exterior palettes, wood, stone, and landscaping that feels connected to its surroundings. Citing Houzz research, the article notes that beige exterior colors have more than doubled in popularity over the last two years, increasing from 10% to 24%. We're beginning to see a move away from the stark white and cool grey palettes that have dominated recent years.
We're seeing more warmth, depth, natural materials, and a willingness to bring color back into a space. It's all about adding warmth and texture. Homes that feel collected rather than manufactured. Spaces that have a little personality and don't feel like they were pulled straight out of a builder's finish package.
I actually welcome it. Not because I think earth tones are the next forever trend, but because I think we're finally starting to move away from the idea that everything needs to be white, grey, or black to be desirable.
I predict that in 10 years, we'll look back and wonder why we were so obsessed with wood-look plastic floors and black-and-white everything. It will be the wood paneling of the '70s.
And maybe, just maybe, we'll start appreciating that good architecture and good design were never supposed to be about following a trend in the first place.
Sources & Further Reading
Moroz-Alpert, Yelena. "9 Curb Appeal Trends That Will Take Over in 2027, According to Designers." House Beautiful, November 5, 2026. Includes findings from Houzz's U.S. Houzz Outdoor Trends study.
