Hear ye, hear ye—we don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Medievalism has acted as a large source of design and artistic inspiration this year. If we’re being accurate, it’s a stylistic portmanteau of Medieval, Tudor, and Renaissance influences all neatly packaged into a genre that social media has named Castlecore. It has popped up in all art forms: see Chappell Roan’s chainmail frocks, Annie’s Ibiza’s armored mini dresses and in music, the resurgence of harpsichord-heavy audio Golden Brown by The Stranglers, and Taylor Swift’s new song The Fate of Ophelia. Considering that all art forms are interconnected, we wonder how this stylistic fusion of castles and taverns of olden times appears in interiors? To show how Castlecore has made its way into our homes we’ve spoken with historian and broadcaster Professor Suzannah Lipscomb and interior designer (and architectural history aficionado) Brandon Schubert.
The Gothick (no, that’s not a typo) of the eighteenth century came about as part of the English rococo, because some wanted a break from the creative limitations that came with the rationality of the classical order. Medieval ruins and motifs were seen as ways to express simplicity and compliment nature; they just wanted a bit of fun—to embrace the picturesque—after years of Palladian seriousness. The Gothic Revival of AWN Pugin of the nineteenth century, however, chose the gothic style with more societal connotations in mind; it was less about whimsy and more about message. They saw it as a way to enforce Christian morals, and they felt that it reflected what they believed to be British vernacular architecture as a reaction against the Enlightenment ideals and the foreign styles brought back from the Grand Tour. It was actually French in origin, but as an American writing this for a British publication, it’s probably best to just throw that fact out there and then leave it be. ‘This is also around the time when Hampton Court Palace was opened to the public for the first time,’ Professor Lipscomb adds, ‘and the curator put in objects like suits of armour, stags heads—things he thought should be there— the stained glass windows you see at Hampton Court are actually from the Tudor Revival time,’ she says, adding to the layers of imagined versus real.
The nineteenth century also brought us the Pre-Raphaelites, who rejected the classical style that was taught by the Royal Academy of Arts and, instead, sought the closeness to nature of Medieval times. This group of nature-minded artists and artisans laid the foundation for the Arts & Crafts Movement: a movement that emphasised materialistic honesty and the hand-made.
The early twentieth century saw the explosion of Tudor Revival architecture, with mock Tudor (a stylistically loose moniker) new-builds around London’s suburbs, which were built to cater to new train lines and the rise of the automobile. ‘It’s supposed to evoke a sense of Merrie Olde Englande,’ Professor Lipscomb informs us, ‘and it was supposed to take people back to a chivalric age,’ she says of the style. To counterbalance all the new technology and residential developments, these houses had mock half-timbered façades and leaded glass windows (often styled with crewelwork curtains and inglenook fireplaces). These mock Tudor new-builds of the first quarter of the twentieth century were a source of olden-time comfort during and in the wake of World War One—a war that scarred many with the horrors of new battlefield technology.
Then, the 1960s and 1970s gave us what we now call Midcentury Medieval (another stylistically loose moniker) with songs like Scarborough Fair by Simon & Garfunkel, films like Franco Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet, and contemporary interiors laden with faux beams, red carpets, and heavily stylised ironwork on doors and staircases (extra points for added pastiche like stained glass windows and suits of armour). This stylistic amalgam—which was used indiscriminately regardless of a home’s style—provided a little cheer and familiarity in the aftermath of World War Two, during the counterculture of the 1960s, and throughout the course of the Vietnam War.
Today, well, isn’t it obvious that we’re all a bit stressed? You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who isn’t anxiety-ridden over politics, global conflicts, social media overexposure, the cost-of-living crisis, the looming dangers of AI . . . please don’t make us go on. It’s our professional opinion that we are, indeed, in great need of comfort in our day-to-day lives—and this is how our interiors express that.
While we think it would certainly be an excellent conversation starter, we aren’t seeing many instances of suits of armour lurking in the corners of people’s entertaining spaces. Yes, we are seeing a strong comeback for obvious historically-on-theme things like Flemish tapestries, crewelwork, flamestitch, barley twists, and bobbins, but today’s interpretation of the Medieval-Renaissance-Tudor mashup is much more nuanced and subtle than simply via the use of objects and ornamentation. It’s about telling a story, and that story is: ‘what you see has always been here’. ‘Theres an attraction to an old world feeling—to houses that have a genuine sense of history to them,’ says Brandon. In addition to displaying collections of objects this sense of history is portrayed via the use of colour, patina, and craft.
‘Dingier colours immediately make something feel older,’ shares Brandon, ‘because it’s as if you took the edge off the white—like you ground up some earth and put it on the walls.’ Think of the colours in crewelwork, which though bright are often slightly tea stained. ‘Just ten years ago, people really wanted to be shocking with colour,’ he continues, ‘and I think that has evolved into: ‘ok we really like colour, but we want to be surrounded by something that is perhaps a little more comfortable to actually live with—I’ve seen my clients gain a comfort level for colours like brown and burnt orange in a way that wasn’t there before.’
We’re also seeing more jewel tones: colours you’d expect to see on medieval manuscripts and on jewels within Tudor portraiture. What keeps these colours from looking too new is the intentional patina. ‘Fabrics are often made to look like they have some age to them; where the printing is uneven or where the weave just feels heavy and real,’ says Brandon, ‘things like Carlos Garcia’s fabrics just don’t feel new,’ he adds, ‘and that really resonates with me—people are reaching for that fabric that shows character and age, which usually takes the form of a heavier weave or slightly distressed effect.’
‘Using reclaimed materials is also a super way to add patina to interiors,’ Brandon says. ‘In our flat I sourced reclaimed Belgian stone tiles from an old church. They immediately lend a feeling of age and authenticity to the space,’ he continues. Some more of Brandon’s tips for patinated details: use an antiqued metal for curtain poles (he specifically loves a finish called ‘Old Brass’ from Tilly’s), and add a dragged effect or layers of thin wash to your paint (because a fresh-looking paint job can break the illusion of oldness).
Lastly, following a period of popular, cheap and mass-produced furniture, we are seeing a more and more crafted pieces in houses. ‘This is a historic trend I hope to see more of—turning to craftsmen and valorising the expertise gained over decades,’ shares Professor Lipscomb. As Welsh blankets, ceramics made by a friend, and grandma’s old needlepoint cushions are deemed aesthetically cool (and environmentally responsible) these days, we would say this trend is probably here to stay for a while.
Design history enthusiasts know that this isn’t the first time we have harkened back to ye olden days—but why do we keep doing so? Well, first, we should consider what the other eras that revived this stylistic conglomeration all have in common; they were all times when people sought comfort. It is ironic that these times weren’t very comfortable at all. ‘They didn’t have sofas—there was no place to really lounge,’ says Professor Lipscomb. ‘They had wooden chairs, wooden platters, no hot or running water, and they didn’t even have the option to stay up late, as candles were expensive,’ she says. ‘But nonetheless, humanity throughout all ages has always thought there was a lost golden time when things were better, more comfortable, and values were stronger —even Cicero wrote how things in the past were better.’ So, does that mean people in the year 2603 will be looking to our styles and trends as sources of comfort? Maybe that’s a scenario we should consider when decorating our homes.
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