The 'Quiet Corners' Home Trend Is the Long-Awaited Cure to My Open Floor Plan Fatigue

For those who grew up in the late ’90s or early 2000s, “screen time” was a privilege, not a lifestyle. I was born in 1998, which means I had AIM in middle school, a BlackBerry in high school and an iPod Nano tucked in every pocket that mattered. But more importantly, I had quiet. My bedroom had one of those oversized Pottery Barn Anywhere Chairs in the corner, where I’d retreat after school to read with my legs tangled in a sherpa throw. My grandparents had a sunroom with a wicker loveseat and a ceiling fan where nothing ever happened—and that was the point. Those little in-between zones were our buffering system. They were places to decompress without an agenda. To just sit.

Yet, somewhere between then and now, our design ethos shifted. Open floor plans took over. Furniture had to “do more.” Suddenly, every room was optimized for stimulation: Peloton bikes in guest rooms, Xbox stations in living rooms, kitchen islands doubling as office desks. If there were a blank wall, someone would mount a flatscreen. And even the idea of sitting in silence started to feel…unproductive. And then came 2020.

During lockdown, our homes became everything—gym, office, therapist, cocktail bar, preschool. But without physical space to mentally escape to, the overstimulation reached a boiling point. I don’t know anyone who didn’t fantasize about adding one more room just to get a moment of peace. Which brings us to now.

Houzz just dropped its 2025 Home Design Predictions, and buried beneath the smart storage and soapstone backsplashes was a surprising trend: “quiet corners.” Cozy, deliberately purposeless spots—sometimes just a bench under a window, sometimes a built-in nook wrapped in scalloped upholstery—created for the sole purpose of rest. No function. Just stillness. A modern-day permission slip to opt out of “doing.”

You can see the shift playing out all over Instagram. In Becca Interiors’ Manor Park project, a creamy chaise sits bathed in natural light, framed by thick ivory curtains and anchored by a curved floor lamp that looks like it wandered off the set of The Holiday. It’s the kind of space that invites you to stay barefoot—to cancel plans—to basically live in a Nancy Meyers fantasy. 

In another room by Samantha Spappas, an arched nook lined with terrazzo-print cushions and deep plum pillows carves out a hideaway that feels both custom and deeply personal. There are built-in cubbies for books, a sculptural pedestal table for coffee, and just enough space to curl up solo. Not to mention Richard Shapiro’s Malibu library (below), where a striped daybed and mismatched throw speak to a different kind of luxury: one that doesn’t care if you sip on rosé at 3 p.m.

To that end, not every quiet corner needs trimwork and textiles. In a backyard scene from good.manors, a single sling-back chair sits beside a blocky wood side table, surrounded by a wall of blooming jasmine. No bells and whistles (I can almost hear the birds chirping in the background). It’s an outdoor reset button that reminds you how little it takes to feel restored.

What these spaces all share is a kind of architectural hush. A refusal to overstate. And in a design era where bold stone slabs and statement lighting are dominating the feed, it’s refreshing to see restraint being romanticized again. These are rooms without punchlines—made for moments that don’t get posted.

Maybe that’s what makes this trend feel so vital. We’re not just looking for comfort anymore. We’re looking for reprieve. A break from the content and chaos—and most importantly, from ourselves. And in that search, I think the quiet corner becomes more than a trend moment. It becomes a mirror for what we actually need post-pandemic.