Why Every Retirement Community Does Not Have to Look Like a Hospital

I walked into a retirement community last month to visit a friend. The floors were shiny linoleum. The walls were beige. The lights buzzed overhead like a dentist’s office. There was a bulletin board with flyers taped to it. A hand sanitizer dispenser hung by every door.

My friend had just moved in. She had spent 40 years making her home beautiful. She loved color. She loved art. She loved fresh flowers on the kitchen table.

Now she lived in a room that looked like it belonged in a hospital wing.

“It is clean,” she said with a small shrug. “But it does not feel like home.”

She is not alone. Millions of older Americans live in places designed for efficiency, not for joy. And I think we deserve better.

The Hospital Look Is a Choice, Not a Requirement

Somewhere along the way, the people who build retirement communities decided that “senior living” meant “medical facility with bedrooms.” They chose linoleum over hardwood. They chose fluorescent lights over warm lamps. They chose beige walls because beige is “safe.”

But here is the thing: none of that is required by law. Building codes do not say retirement homes must look sad. Fire codes do not demand ugly carpet. ADA rules do not prevent beautiful design.

The hospital look is a choice. And it is a bad one.

Good design does not cost much more than bad design. A coat of warm paint costs the same as a coat of beige. A table lamp costs about the same as a fluorescent panel. A real plant costs a few dollars.

The problem is not money. The problem is that nobody asks older people what they actually want.

What Good Design Looks Like

I have seen retirement communities that get it right. They exist. They are just not the norm.

In one community I visited in Oregon, the common area had:

A real fireplace with comfortable chairs around it
Bookshelves filled with actual books, not just decoration
Big windows that let in natural light
A kitchen where residents could cook if they wanted to
Art on the walls chosen by the people who lived there

It felt like a living room. Not a waiting room.

In another community in North Carolina, each apartment had its own small patio or balcony. Residents could garden. They could sit outside with a cup of coffee. They could watch the birds.

These places were not luxury facilities for the wealthy. They were normal, mid-range communities that simply made different design choices.

Why Design Matters More Than You Think

Some people might say I am making too much of this. “Who cares about paint colors? The important thing is good care.”

I agree that good care comes first. But design and care are not enemies. You can have both. And the research backs this up.

Studies show that people in well-designed living spaces:

Sleep better
Feel less anxious and depressed
Stay more physically active
Socialize more with other residents
Report higher satisfaction with their lives

Natural light alone makes a big difference. One study found that residents with more sunlight exposure had fewer falls, better sleep, and improved mood. That is not a small thing when you are 80 years old.

Color matters too. Warm colors can help people with dementia feel calmer. Clear color contrasts between walls, floors, and doors help people with low vision find their way around. Good design is not just pretty. It is practical.

The Dignity Question

But let me get to what really bothers me about the hospital look. It is not just ugly. It sends a message.

When you move into a place that looks like a medical facility, the message is clear: you are a patient now. Your life has become a medical event. You are here to be managed, monitored, and maintained.

That is not how I want to spend my later years. And I do not think anyone else does either.

We spend our whole lives building homes that reflect who we are. We choose our own curtains. We hang pictures that mean something to us. We arrange our furniture the way we like it.

Then we move into a retirement community and all of that goes away. We get a room with a bed, a chair, and a window that may or may not open. Everything is chosen for us by someone who will never live there.

That is a loss of dignity. And it does not have to be that way.

What Needs to Change

I am not saying every retirement community needs to look like a five-star hotel. I am saying they need to look like places where real people live. Here is what that means:

Let residents make choices. Let them pick paint colors for their rooms. Let them bring their own furniture. Let them hang things on the walls. These small choices add up to a sense of control and ownership.

Hire designers, not just builders. Most retirement communities are designed by people who build medical facilities. That is the wrong starting point. Bring in designers who understand residential spaces. Ask them to create rooms people would actually want to live in.

Use natural materials. Wood, stone, fabric, and plants make spaces feel alive. Plastic, vinyl, and metal make spaces feel cold. This is not complicated.

Prioritize natural light. Big windows, skylights, and outdoor access should be standard, not upgrades. Sunlight is free, and it changes everything about how a room feels.

Create real gathering spaces. Not a “multipurpose room” with folding chairs. A real living room. A real dining room. A patio with comfortable seating. Places that invite people to spend time together because they want to, not because it is on the activity schedule.

Ask the residents. This is the simplest and most important step. Before you design a retirement community, talk to the people who will live there. Ask them what matters. Listen to their answers. Build accordingly.

We Are the Generation That Can Fix This

The baby boom generation is the largest group of older adults in American history. We have money. We have opinions. And we have choices.

If we demand better design, the market will respond. If we refuse to move into places that look like hospitals, developers will build places that look like homes. If we speak up about what we want, someone will listen.

I have already started. When I tour a retirement community, I bring a checklist. Not about medical services or meal plans, but about light, color, comfort, and beauty. If a place feels like a hospital, I walk out.

My friend in the beige room is starting to push back too. She asked management if she could paint her walls. They said no. She asked again. They said they would “look into it.”

She is going to keep asking.

A Personal Note

I am 72 years old. I have lived in beautiful homes and ugly apartments. I know the difference a good space makes. It changes how you feel when you wake up. It changes how you sleep at night. It changes whether you want to invite friends over or hide behind a closed door.

I am not ready for a retirement community yet. But when the time comes, I want to walk into a place that feels like the next chapter of my life, not the last stop. I want color on the walls. I want sunlight through the windows. I want a space that says, “Welcome home.”

That is not too much to ask.

Helen Brady is a retired interior designer and housing advocate based in Portland, Oregon. For corrections or updates, please contact us.