RANKINGS • REAL ESTATE
TOP 10
BORING
HOUSES
A loving roast of the homes that cost eight figures and still look like the loading screen of a banking app.
RANKINGS • REAL ESTATE
A loving roast of the homes that cost eight figures and still look like the loading screen of a banking app.
Every house in Highland Park is technically “nice.” But some push through “nice” and land squarely in “architecturally Ambien.” We crunched the numbers (drove around once with iced coffee) to determine the ten most gloriously boring homes in town.
Big? Yes. Personality? No. This house looks like it sells private equity and emotional repression. The windows are large, the vibe is small. Grade: B-. Energy: mouthwash corporate chic.
Mediterranean estate but somehow still tastes like unsweet tea. Absolutely massive, aggressively beige, and trying very hard to be European but was born in Dallas. Grade: A- for size, C for soul. Energy: Tuscan Olive Garden villain.
Respect your elders, unless your elders are this house, in which case absolutely dunk on it. Historic, huge, haunted by the ghosts of former decorators who were paid in exposure. Grade: A for architecture, F for flirting with millennial gray upgrades.
Absolutely enormous but somehow feels like it would shush you at a dinner party. The kind of house that puts tiny soap in every bathroom and expects applause. Grade: B+. Energy: soft piano music playing from unseen speakers.”
We’ve got half an acre of grass and 80 acres of audacity. Gorgeous, huge, and fully aware of it. Definitely owns 4 types of scissors for no reason. Grade: A. Energy: I flip houses for sport.
Historic and gigantic and emotionally judgmental. Built in 1914, renovated every 6 months since. The house equivalent of saying “summer in the Hamptons” while holding a LaCroix. Grade: A-. Energy: I judge you but also host galas.
(Basically the Batman of HP mansions but Bruce Wayne gets his teeth whitened at Tom Thumb.) 16k square feet of legacy and exactly 4 square feet of humor. Grade: A+. Energy: absolute brass billionaire swagger.
This house is a full-time job and the job is “impress the neighbors at all costs.” The ceilings are higher than its EQ score. Every room whispers “charcuterie budget: unlimited.”
This is the kind of house that looks you dead in the retina and says “valet only.” It is massive, symmetrical, immaculately trimmed, and definitely schedules its landscaping via iPad.
Our winner boasts three garages, zero personality, and a lawn so uniform it might be rendered. It is the physical embodiment of “we let the builder pick everything.” Absolutely huge. Absolutely pretentious. The driveway alone could host a mid-scale music festival by Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival standards. It looks like it has a panic room but for out-of-season decor.
The joke isn’t that these homes are bad; they’re not. The joke is that in a neighborhood this wealthy, even the wildest dreams somehow end up looking exactly the same.