There's a Reason Why 'Castlecore' Is Having a Moment in Design Right Now

Spend enough time in museums and Pinterest rabbit holes, and you’ll start to notice a pattern: the more chaotic the world gets, the heavier our furniture becomes. My freshman year of college was 2016, when Joanna Gaines’ modern farmhouse was the blueprint—whitewashed, cookie-cutter condos that were stripped of personality by design. By 2018, I was studying abroad in Australia, where even the cafés along Bondi Beach had that same Cali-coastal palette I’d seen take over LA interiors: blonde woods, arched shelving, oversized linen sofas. Everything looked like it could be erased with one tide. And then came 2020. I graduated into a global shutdown and watched design take a dramatic turn—fluted wood paneling, statement marble slabs and brutalist backyards that looked like they could outlast the apocalypse.

Fast forward five years, and the tone hasn’t just shifted—it’s solidified. My friends aren’t coveting cane chairs or DIY’d barn doors anymore. They want permanence. Wrought iron lighting. Thick stone tables. Velvet curtains that make their living rooms feel like a fortress. It’s not rustic—it’s something darker. A trend the design world is now calling “Castlecore.”

Some background: Castlecore is a design trend that borrows heavily from medieval architecture and feudal grandeur. Pinterest named it a top trend for 2025, reporting a 45 percent spike in searches for “castle house plans” and a 110 percent surge in “medieval core.” But it’s not just about turrets and tapestries. The updated look—which is also being referred to as “medieval modern” on TikTok—blends carved dark wood, cast iron accents and scalloped-edge details with clean silhouettes. It’s a twist on gothic romance: soft lace, heavy drapery, the occasional tassel on a curtain.

Yet, what’s most interesting about this trend is how it’s showing up in high design, too. Athena Calderone’s once-coastal EyeSwoon spaces have darkened into moodier limestone palettes and fluted stone bathrooms. Kelly Wearstler’s latest collection swaps out her signature lacquer for oxidized bronze and monastic silhouettes. Even Roman and Williams are designing vaulted, torch-lit hospitality spaces—while Studio Peregalli’s newest commissions read less like libraries and more like cloisters. Everything is layered in tapestries, frescoes and fortress-scale furnishings. 

Which begs the question: Is this movement about aesthetic nostalgia—or is it a quiet revolt against a culture that’s traded permanence for convenience?

Without turning this into a college lecture (or forcing you to relive Art History 101), I can tell you there’s a historical precedent here. During the Industrial Revolution, when mass production was replacing artisanship and cities were blanketed in soot and uncertainty, designers turned to Gothic Revival as a form of rebellion. They looked backward—not out of kitsch or nostalgia—but because medieval forms offered something the modern world couldn’t: stability. Pointed arches, cathedral windows and fortress-like facades were a reminder that even in an era of mechanized speed, our homes were still built to last.

We’re in a similar cycle right now. Just swap steam engines for iOS updates. Our lives are mediated by algorithms, our jobs by instability, our climate by threat. We’re collectively burned out on speed—and even more exhausted by surfaces that pretend to soothe us while silently reminding us that we’re falling behind. Castlecore offers a kind of visual rebellion. It invites you to swap your Samsung TV for an oil painting. Your smart lamp for a candelabra. It slows the tempo of a space until it feels resistant to the outside world.

And that’s really the emotional crux of this trend: protection. It’s not just about moody lighting and medieval flourishes—it’s about the armor underbelly of this entire look. Surrounding ourselves with objects that feel intentional, weighty and rooted in a world that isn’t constantly refreshing. A hand-carved credenza takes time. So does a handwoven tapestry. And in that sense, Castlecore isn’t just an aesthetic—it’s about creating value. Restoring meaning to the act of furnishing your space, and by extension, your life.