Anne Waldron Neumann
“McMansion”— a “McWord,” like McJob or McNews (i.e., USA Today) — implies both standardized and substandard. McMansions are to mansions what McNuggets are to chicken.
Today’s typical McMansions are five-bedroom, four-and-a-half-bath, million-plus, Palladio-Victorian spec houses (few people design their own starter castles), with columned porticoes, two-story atria, dormers, steep roofs, and imitation quoins (real quoins are the stone blocks one above the other that reinforce the corner of a masonry wall).
Despite a recent trend toward Susan Susanka’s “not so big house,” McMansions, whose production slowed after the mortgage meltdown, have come roaring back. These wallboard strongholds may be mass-produced “executive dwellings” built in subdivisions on former farmland outside suburban centers where large lots are still available. Or the term may describe intrusive builders’ Balmorals replacing modest houses on relatively small in-town lots.
We don’t really have quantity-over-quality McMansions in uniform subdivisions in Princeton. We were largely developed by the 1980s when the term and the phenomenon originated. If individual ersatz estates infest outlying parts of Princeton, they’re no problem — except for their owners and the environment — because the lots are large. No one has to see such a house up close — not even the owners, who are typically inside it.
So suppose those owners are content with their veneer Versailles and its Styrofoam crown molding, faux-stucco skim-coated wallboard, and travertine made from epoxy and marble dust. Suppose they can afford to heat and cool their particle-board palazzo. Suppose they trust Merry Maids to clean their tyranno-kitchen. Suppose they plan to sell their schlock Schloss and move on before it curdles. Fine. We’ve already paid for the extra roads and utility lines their large house and lot required.
No, Princeton’s current McMansion problem is when counterfeit castles replace modest tear-downs — an odd problem in a town with many actual mansions. From a 1905 description of Princeton’s Western section: “The residents build on the same street according to their means, but the hand of taste is visible in almost every house. Here is a stately Colonial mansion and beside it is a roughcast cottage overgrown with climbing roses. There is a costly stone house of the Elizabethan style, and beyond, an artistic combination of stucco and timber. … [But] as each house has a sufficient garden space about it to overcome incongruities of juxtaposition, the village becomes more and more attractive as the rivalry progresses.”
Unfortunately, McMansions in Princeton’s denser neighborhoods lack space to overcome “incongruities of juxtaposition.” And, if you live beside a McMansion, your bedroom, which once got morning sun, may now face your neighbors’ Jacuzzi, while the terrace, where you once read today’s paper in pajamas, now abuts their breakfast room. You deplore your neighbors’ sham chateau because it diminishes your privacy and privileges — and maybe raises your property value and taxes.
According to a recent Princeton Echo, Princeton “issued more than 220 building permits for new single-family units from 2007-2015, with a spike of more than 40 permits in 2015,” mostly to builders. Two more tear-downs were approved recently, over neighbors’ objections.
Can we quickly stop this pattern of replacing rose-covered cottages with disproportionate disposable domiciles? Residents of Princeton’s affected neighborhoods want relief now before their streets are irrevocably changed. None of us want Princeton’s most affordable houses destroyed by developers before young families find them and renew Princeton’s diversity in age, income, and ethnicity.
But can we also stop this pattern thoughtfully? After all, people with growing families should have the right to add to their houses or even raze and rebuild them—if the results don’t intrude on neighbors.
Unfortunately, it may take Princeton Council and the consultant they’ve hired several years to develop a neighborhood-specific McMansion ordinance using form-based zoning, which codifies a new home’s appearance — or form — to reflect nearby homes. In New Jersey, applications for development are governed by ordinances in effect when they’re filed, not when they’re heard. Merely announcing that council is beginning to move against McMansions will spur developers to act.
A McMansion moratorium therefore sounds tempting. But moratoriums on new construction are illegal in New Jersey except in emergencies. Two weeks after the fire at AvalonBay’s Edgewater apartments, a bill was introduced to stop light frame construction for multiple dwellings until its safety was studied. The bill died in committee.
A quick solution — one several Princetonians have called for — would be sliding fees for construction permits: the more developers exceed the home they demolished, the more they would pay. Council should consider what fee would be a sufficient disincentive.
I favor a quick-to-pass zoning ordinance restricting size rather than form. Austin, Texas, for example, limits new homes in central neighborhoods to the greater of either 2,300 square feet or a 0.4 Floor-to-Area-Ratio (FAR). That means usable floor space on all floors cannot exceed 40 percent of lot size.
A uniform limit on FAR wouldn’t work in Princeton, where lot sizes vary greatly. The option I prefer would change the maximum allowable FAR from neighborhood to neighborhood. The limit could be a block’s average FAR plus one standard deviation plus a small percentage. This would allow new homes at the upper end of average for each neighborhood but prevent any existing markdown mansions from influencing the average unduly.
We won’t induce home buyers who can’t afford costly Elizabethan stone to prefer rose-covered cottages. There’s no disputing taste. But outrage — plus immediate zoning changes — can prevent developers from supplying the taste for Garage Mahals.
Anne Waldron Neumann is a Princeton-based writer.
