It’s easy to overlook, but hard to replace.
When we remember a place that made us feel at ease, it’s rarely just the furniture or finishes that come to mind. It’s often something quieter. A softness in the light. A sense of calm in the air. The presence of something alive.
In many of the most inviting built environment spaces I’ve stepped into, there’s a common thread. Not the layout or the brand voice, but the simple presence of greenery. A tall plant in the corner. A vine trailing along a bookshelf. Herbs in the kitchen window.
It’s easy to overlook, but hard to replace.
As co-living evolves from a stopgap for housing shortages into a more intentional way of life, we’re learning that design isn’t just functional, it’s emotional. And nothing speaks to that emotional layer quite like nature.
Biophilic design is more than just a trend. It’s a quiet revolution in how we think about our relationship with space. When people live together in close quarters, greenery does more than just look good, it changes how we feel, how we relate, and how we cope.
Consider the research:
- Plants reduce cortisol. In shared living environments, this helps ease the mental load of constant proximity.
- They soften sound. In communal kitchens or open lounges, this makes conversations more relaxed and less jarring.
- They humanise space. A sparse room can feel transient. Add a few plants, and suddenly it feels like someone lives there. Someone who cares.
- They subtly teach stewardship. When we live near living things, we tend to treat our space and each other with more care.
In a housing model that promises more connection, more community, and more belonging, nature isn’t a luxury. It’s part of the foundation.
So what if the missing ingredient in co-living isn’t more tech, more programs, or more branding?
What if it’s something far older, far simpler, something green, rooted, and quietly alive.
