In the age of social media, platforms like Instagram have transformed the way we experience architecture. Once a local expression of culture, climate, and context, architecture is increasingly becoming a product of global visual trends. The result? A strange and growing homogeneity across modern architectural design—from coffee shops in Copenhagen to boutique hotels in Bali, from apartments in São Paulo to co-working spaces in Toronto. Everywhere starts to look... the same.
The Rise of “Instagrammable” Architecture
Instagram didn’t invent good design, but it certainly accelerated a specific kind of design: the photogenic kind. The “Instagrammable moment” has become a design brief in itself. Designers and developers now plan with shareability in mind—pampas grass in a terrazzo vase, pastel walls with neon quotes, arched mirrors, and textured concrete are not just stylistic choices; they're marketing tools.
Social media rewards repetition. The more a visual style circulates, the more people recognize and seek it out. This feedback loop fuels a race to replicate the most-liked aesthetics, not necessarily the most thoughtful or locally resonant ones.
Global Taste, Local Erasure
While platforms like Instagram democratize access to design ideas, they also flatten cultural nuance. Traditional materials, climate-responsive design, and region-specific craftsmanship often get sidelined in favor of globally trendy visual cues. A café in Marrakech might look like one in Melbourne—same color palette, same minimalist furniture, same leafy monstera plant in the corner.
This aesthetic convergence erodes architectural diversity. It becomes harder to tell where you are by looking at a building’s design. In extreme cases, this erasure leads to what some critics call "AirSpace"—a term used to describe the uncanny sameness of spaces designed for digital consumption rather than human experience.
The Algorithm as Tastemaker
Instagram’s algorithm favors what works visually at a glance. Clean lines, symmetrical compositions, and muted color palettes perform better than complex, messy, or deeply contextual spaces. So architects and designers—whether consciously or not—start to design for the feed.
The dominance of certain influencers or viral architects reinforces this. When a specific style gains popularity—think Japandi minimalism or Brutalist revivalism—it quickly becomes a template, spawning countless imitations. The architecture stops being about problem-solving or place-making and starts becoming a backdrop for lifestyle branding.
Can Architecture Fight Back?
Not all is lost. In response to this sameness, there’s a growing counter-movement: architects and designers who embrace hyperlocal materials, indigenous techniques, and narratives rooted in place. The key challenge is to design in a way that resonates in real life, not just through a screen.
Some firms are starting to design for anti-Instagrammability—intentionally creating complex, tactile, and immersive spaces that resist flattening into a square photo. Others use social media to show the process, not just the polished product, reminding audiences that architecture is as much about the people who use it as the people who photograph it.
Conclusion
Instagram has undoubtedly influenced architecture—sometimes inspiring creativity, but often narrowing design into a handful of global clichés. The challenge for architects, developers, and users alike is to question what’s driving our aesthetic choices. Are we building for the camera, or are we building for life?
The most meaningful architecture should do more than get likes. It should reflect who we are, where we are, and why we are. And that may never fit neatly into a 1080x1080 pixel frame.