Dignity is in the Details
When affordable housing is designed to minimums, it sends a message about who we think deserves good things.
I grew up riding my bike with friends through Chavis Heights in Southeast Raleigh. We played between stoops and felt the love of the block. But the cues were different: trash in the grass, broken blinds, busted windows, rattling window units, paint the color of a cloudy day.
As a kid, I knew something was off, even if I couldn’t name it. Years later at North Carolina Central, walking through McDougald Terrace, the same cues greeted me. Minimal fixes. Barely habitable in places. The people felt warm; the buildings felt tired. That’s when it clicked: the problem wasn’t the community. It was the message the buildings were sending about what we deserve.
When most people hear “affordable housing,” the image that comes to mind is bare-bones: beige walls, low-cost finishes, lifeless hallways. Just enough to pass inspection.
But affordable doesn’t mean cheap. And it shouldn’t look cheap.
The way we design housing sends a message about who we think deserves dignity. If we cut corners on design, we’re not just saving dollars. We’re telling families that their comfort, pride, and identity do not matter.
Why Design Matters
Design shapes daily life. It’s the difference between:
A hallway you rush through vs. one where neighbors actually talk.
A playground tucked in a corner vs. a green where kids thrive.
A unit that feels temporary vs. a home you are proud to invite people into.
Dignity shows up in the details: light, space, materials. But it also shows up in whether systems work and hazards are removed. In older public housing, we have too many examples of the opposite. In New York, federal monitors have documented persistent problems like mold and leaks that “require sustained, systemwide reforms.” Even when progress is made, new, bigger problems surface as smaller ones are cured.
In Durham, residents of McDougald Terrace were evacuated in 2019 after dangerous carbon monoxide levels were detected. Hundreds of families spent weeks in hotels while repairs moved forward. The crisis was described as the result of “decades of underfunding.”
These are not isolated stories. They are signals of a system that has normalized minimums.
The Problem With “Spreadsheet Housing”
Too often, buildings are designed to satisfy a pro forma instead of people. I’ve walked through developments where it was clear that the numbers came first, and residents came second. When it comes to “affordable housing” policy, the number of units usually supersedes the quality of those homes.
I get it. Projects have to pencil to get funded. But focusing only on numbers means we fall short of the larger goal: building places that help people thrive.
We also pay for neglect later. HUD’s landmark capital-needs study found a large backlog across public housing, with billions required for roofs, heating and cooling systems, and basic repairs. In their October 2025 report, the Council of Large Public Housing Authorities estimated that $169 billion is needed to stabilize the nation’s entire public housing stock. And that number isn’t about upgrading quality of life or adding luxuries; it’s about restoring bare minimum standards of health and safety.
When oversight dug into New York City’s public housing portfolio years ago, the issues were plain: “mold, rat infestations, lead paint, leaky roofs and broken elevators.” Those conditions erode trust and dignity as much as they erode plaster.
Buildings aren’t just investments. They are containers for human lives. If the spreadsheet ignores that, the building will, too.
Innovation Under Constraint
Yes, construction costs are high. The answer is not cutting dignity out of design. The answer is building smarter.
Modular and panelized systems can cut timelines and variability.
Pre-approved pattern books can lower soft costs without lowering standards.
Early, integrated teams can align architects, builders, and residents around use, not just unit counts.
Capital stacks that pair preservation funds with energy upgrades can replace failing systems and reduce monthly costs for residents.
A Higher Standard
Think about the difference between a unit that barely passes code and one that makes someone proud to live in. That pride matters. It affects how residents care for their homes, how kids see their future, and how neighborhoods hold together.
In Durham, the carbon monoxide crisis forced attention and investment. In New York, court-monitored reforms are pushing faster heat restoration and more accountable mold response. These are steps in the right direction, but they also remind us how low the floor has fallen.
Dignity is not an add-on. It is the foundation.
Affordable housing should not mean lowering expectations. It should mean more creativity, more care, and more respect for the people we serve.
Because when we design for dignity, we aren’t just building housing. We’re building belonging.
Call to Action
If you are an architect, developer, lender, or public official, here is the work:
Start every project with a dignity checklist. Light. Air. Safety. Community space.
Use real resident feedback to shape circulation, courtyards, and services.
Align incentives so that long-term performance matters as much as first cost.
Treat remediation of legacy hazards as nonnegotiable, instead of optional.
Preserve what is culturally significant while fixing what harms.
What’s one design choice you have seen that made affordable housing feel like home instead of just shelter?
Desmond Dunn is a husband and father of two, building a path in small-scale real estate development. He’s an emerging affordable housing developer and an Urban Design and Development Consultant at r.plan, focused on projects that strengthen underserved communities like Southeast Raleigh through good design and real community benefit.
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