The Generation That Killed Everything
Except Good Design
Ah, Millennials – the generation that killed everything. From casual dining to shopping malls, we’ve somehow been blamed for bringing about the end of, well, everything you once held dear. This is the generation that grew up with dial-up, entered adulthood during a recession, and curated their identity on Instagram. The result? A seismic shift in how we think about design.
With student debt sky-high and avocado toast in hand, Millennials chose minimalism over McMansions, and purpose over possessions. We swapped bulky furniture for flexible spaces, embraced biophilic design before it had a name, and made rose gold a personality trait (2016, never forget).
We didn’t just reject the past - we redesigned the future. Seamless UX, ethically-sourced everything, DTC furniture that ships in a box, and homes that double as workspaces, plant sanctuaries, and personal brands? That’s us.
Turns out, when you can’t afford a house, you make the rental look like an Apple store and call it a vibe.
We Didn’t Kill It. We Just Couldn’t Afford It.
The whole “Millennials killed everything” narrative? Yeah, we’ve heard it. But spoiler: it wasn’t sabotage - it was survival. We didn’t destroy industries for fun. We just stopped buying things that didn’t make sense for our lives, our budgets, or our values.
Crushed by student debt and entering a job market built on unpaid internships and broken promises, we weren’t exactly rushing out to buy china cabinets and 4-bedroom suburban homes. Instead, we embraced smaller spaces, flexible furniture, and brands that didn’t feel like a moral compromise. Function > fluff. Ethics > excess.
Retail giants weren’t ready. Traditional furniture stores closed, legacy brands panicked, and direct-to-consumer upstarts slid into our DMs with flat-packed shelving and minimalist sofas we could assemble without crying (well, mostly).
We didn’t just ditch the old ways - we demanded better ones. Sustainability, personalization, and design with purpose became the new standard. What Boomers saw as destruction was actually reinvention. We weren’t killing traditions—we were Marie Kondo-ing them.
And guess what? That sparked joy.
So what did we kill exactly?
The Rise of Minimalism (Or, How We Learned to Stop Worrying and Love White Space)
Once upon a time, Millennials thrived in chaos. Just look at our MySpace profiles - blinking GIFs, autoplay music, rainbow fonts. It was giving ✨visual whiplash✨. But somewhere between the rise of Apple and the fall of our attention spans, we discovered minimalism. With rent sky-high and budgets low, owning less just made sense. We couldn’t afford “more,” so we made less look intentional.
Typography in the Age of Memes
Millennials grew up with Comic Sans in school projects, WordArt in early resumes, and enough bad kerning to cause actual physical pain. So naturally, we rebelled.
We killed Comic Sans. We buried Papyrus. We sent Curlz MT to hell, where it belonged. And then, in our newfound typographic enlightenment, we embraced the holy trinity: Helvetica, Futura, and every clean, unproblematic sans-serif we could find.
Startups became obsessed. Every DTC brand looked the same: pale pink background, sans-serif font, awkwardly spaced lowercase copy saying something like hi, we make socks but better. It was the golden age of “brand minimalism,” and boy, did we overdo it.
Live, Laugh, Redesign
When Millennials realised they couldn’t afford homes, they made damn sure their rentals looked cute. Plants became the new pets. Then actual pets replaced the idea of kids. Our homes became jungles of hanging pothos, fiddle-leaf figs, and one stubborn fern named Kevin, who keeps dying and coming back.
Open concept living? We ate it up. Who needs walls when your tiny apartment can feel slightly bigger by knocking one down (or pretending there was one to begin with)? Kitchens blurred into living rooms, bedrooms blurred into workspaces, and suddenly our entire lives took place in a vaguely beige multi-use space with a bar cart in the corner. And then, there was IKEA - the Swedish mecca of affordable design and emotional testing grounds for every couple.
Sustainability
We might’ve killed bar soap and department stores, but we also made “eco-friendly” a baseline expectation. Plastic? Banned. Fast fashion? Cancelled (well, sometimes). Sustainability wasn’t just a fancy word - it became the design brief.
We adopted bamboo toothbrushes, reusable beeswax wraps, and every type of “green” material that could be moulded into a cup or chair. Suddenly, aesthetic and eco didn’t just coexist but they became synonymous.
Secondhand was no longer second-best. We transformed thrifting into an art form, giving vintage aesthetics a full-blown renaissance, the more chipped and character-filled, the better. We didn’t just want homes that looked lived in - we wanted stories in our stuff.
Luxury got redefined too. It wasn’t about newness, but thoughtfulness. Having less, but better. If you could say “It’s sustainably sourced and artisan-made” in the same breath, you basically won the design Olympics.
The Workplace Revolution
We crawled out of cubicles and into open floor plans. Then into co-working spaces. Then into our bedrooms. Millennials were the guinea pigs of the modern workplace, and we brought bean bags, breakout zones, and way too many succulents into the mix.
We were promised office slides and ping-pong tables. What we got was Slack fatigue and the quiet realisation that “unlimited vacation” often means “never take it.” Still, we embraced workspaces that felt more human - more homey, more flexible, more us.
Then came COVID-19. Suddenly, home became the office. And every millennial who had once craved cozy café vibes was now trying to build a desk in the corner of their kitchen. The great pivot to remote work forced a whole new appreciation for ergonomic chairs, decent lighting, and closing the door on Zoom.
Mixed Media and Cultural Fusion
We were the first generation raised online, which meant our sense of design was shaped by everywhere at once. We drew inspiration from K-pop, cottagecore, Afrofuturism, Brutalism, and Tumblr grunge, and then mashed it all together with filters.
Vinyl made a comeback while we streamed on Spotify. We decorated our walls with record players and film cameras while editing photos on five apps before posting. We were digital natives with analogue dreams, and our design aesthetic followed suit.
But with global influence came global responsibility. The line between cultural appreciation and appropriation got blurry - and we were forced to reckon with that. Millennials began to ask harder questions about representation, authenticity, and who gets to profit from cultural inspiration.
The Legacy Lives On
Faced with debt, unstable jobs, and landlords who think a “cozy” studio is worth €1,200/month, we redefined what good design even means. We wanted less junk, more function. Less status, more soul. We made minimalism warm, tech seamless, and our homes double as everything from offices to dog yoga studios.
Our legacy? A world where design isn’t just pretty - it’s personal, ethical, and built for real life. We didn’t kill the past. We designed a better future. You’re welcome.
And now? Gen Z is already reacting to it and ditching the beige for chaos, rejecting minimalism for maximalism, and bringing back Y2K like it never hurt us. The cycle continues. And I am here for it.
Will they blame us for everything? Probably. Just like we blamed Boomers. One day, Gen Z will get their turn too.
