When the interior designer Ken Fulk begins working with new clients, he asks them to fill out a “Fulkfessional,” a form with questions to help him understand what matters most to them at home. Among his favorite questions lately is “Dumb house or smart house?” The answer is everything.

The philanthropist Christine Schantz knew exactly what she wanted for her historic 1925 home in Marin County. She tasked Fulk (and architect Andrew Skurman) with creating a residence that could last 30 years without another renovation. All those smart flourishes that are the rage these days—automated fixtures, complex lighting systems, remote-controlled appliances, charging stations, electronic security systems, and, everyone’s favorite, Alexa—went out the window. Schantz didn’t want a SpaceX command station but a family retreat. “Technology doesn’t go with that,” she says.

Homeowners like Schantz aren’t hardcore technophobes. They would just like fewer remotes, gizmos, and wires in their personal space, and they’re turning to their decorators, architects, and contractors to make houses that are, if not dumb, then dumbish. Perhaps not coincidentally, the trend is gaining favor with the most ­cutting-edge cohort of all; call them the Low-Key Luddites of Silicon Valley.

“Many of my clients who work in the technology world tend to forgo highly advanced homes often because they are acutely aware of change,” Fulk says. What they want, he adds, are environments that age gracefully without frequent, irksome updates.

The Design Rules of the Modern Dumb House: Keep traditional kitchen appliances out of sight and focus on bold color–such as this vivid share of robin’s egg blue. All fixtures and cabinet hardware are by the Nanz Company. Rule: Go old school with cookware–very old school. The collection of enameled cast iron pots and pans is from Staub. The pendant lights are by Studio Van den Akker.

To step inside an anti-smart house like Schantz’s, seen here, is to find a feast for the eyes steeped in handiwork that feels closer to the past than the future: artisanal millwork, detailed plaster, light switches that look like old fashioned brass toggles. The doorbell is manual (“a Victorian hand-turn that I purchased myself,” Schantz says), the bookcases are filled with hardbacks, and family knickknacks and photographs are not relegated to the attic or uploaded to an iPad but thoughtfully displayed.

“We often hear clients say that they don’t want a home that’s smarter than they are,” says the design legend Holly Hunt. “The appeal of being able to control your home while on vacation is obvious, but what happens when things go wrong and you can’t get through to tech support while you’re on the other side of the world?”

Rule: Take the low-tech look to the next level with bespoke wallpaper illustrated with favored real and imaginary titles, executed in the powder room by Ken Fulk, and a custom, marble, wood, and leather vanity by Merritt Woodwork, with faux-book detailing.

The idea of the smart home goes back decades. In pop culture it is depicted everywhere from Dr. Frankenstein’s lab to John Lautner’s 1960 Los Angeles house the Chemosphere (the inspiration for The Jetsons and a longtime movie backdrop) to, more recently, the 2014 film Ex Machina. In Woody Allen’s Sleeper (1973) a health food store owner is cryogenically frozen and defrosted 200 years later in a glass house designed by Charles Deaton full of robots. In the real world, the launch of the first general-purpose home automation network technology, dubbed X10, came in 1975.

In the living room, a Silvio Piatelli chandelier, a table lamp by Cym Warkov Ceramics, and Chesterfield sofas by Coup d’etat.

In 1999 Microsoft’s “Home of the Future” promotional video imagined a middle-class family house with seamless voice-activated and integrated lighting, heating, security, and entertainment systems. By 2012 the ad was becoming a reality: 1.5 million home automation systems had been installed in the United States, according to data firm ABI Research, and by 2020 the industry was valued at $44 billion.

Rule: No TV, Alexa, or electronics in the bedroom. And keep lighting simple. The chandelier is by Fabio LTD, and the reading pendants are by Allied Maker. Rule: Prioritize neutral elements: fresh flowers and forest wallpaper, here by Cole & Sons. The wicker nightstands are by Portuguese design studio Emotional Brands.

The shift away from overly digitized homes, at least for some, has been a long time coming, spurred first by a growing awareness of the health risks of too much screen time and later accelerated by the erosion of work-life balance during the pandemic. The rise of artificial intelligence is a more recent cause for alarm.

“People that I’ve worked with in the tech industry don’t want their kids to have technology,” says the designer Lonni Paul, who has removed computers and other digital devices from the bedrooms and personal spaces in her own home and those of her clients. Erin Lichy, a New York interior designer, has also winnowed the devices in her home in favor of elements that put a premium on calm, not notifications. No cameras, Alexa, or Google Assistant for her.

In the primary bedroom, the wallpaper is St. Laurent by de Gournay, the ceiling fixture is by Fortuny, the antique desk features a Josef Hoffman lamp by Woka Lamps, and the nightstand lamps are by Lorenza Bozzoli for Tato Italia.

“Similar to in-home cameras, we don’t love the idea of a device constantly listening in on us,” she says. It’s an urgent concern for homeowners at a time when big tech companies are testing ambient intelligence, a concept that futurologists have been talking about for years, in which smart devices make their own decisions based on anything from biometric sensors to predictive behavior modeling.

“Just because it works doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” Fulk says. “When I come home, especially to a beach house or a ski house, the last thing I want is to have to wrangle with technology.” In the modern dumb home, the only bits of technology present are usually ­hidden—starting with the TV and including details as small as a light switch. “Whenever I’m redoing a house, I can tell when a house was made in the 2000s, because it was this in-between of trying to be forward-thinking but things still felt really clunky,” says the designer David Ko, who receives an increasing number of requests from his Los Angeles clients to keep entertainment consoles out of sight. His solution: OG projectors, built-in custom furniture, and products like Samsung’s the Frame, which makes television screens look like artworks.

“There’s nothing luxurious about technology anymore,” says the designer Stephanie Roy-Heckl, who largely works in Miami and the Hamptons. Or beautiful, for that matter. A Roomba may be practical, but chic is not the first word that comes to mind to describe one.

In the entry, art works by Jack Wright and Charles Bianchini, a 19th century gueridon with a marble top, millwork by Merritt Woodwork and doorway by Theodore Ellison Designs.

Even if so-called dumb houses aren’t defined by a single aesthetic, they all represent a broader recalibration of homeowners’ relationships with technology. There’s less interest in the latest gadgets and more demand for conscientious innovation, especially in the realms of sustainability, green architecture, and solar power. “In California we’re having a big conversation around gas appliances and their impact on the environment and on our health,” Fulk says. That was a priority for Schantz, too, but her domestic digital detox was brought about by a simpler personal conviction.

“I also think technology dumbs us down,” she says. “It makes us forget what’s meaningful and lasting. It gives us terribly short attention spans.” Instead, her home has something AI never will: soul.

Lead image: The sconces and library lights are from the Culver City dealer Obsolete. The astrological ceiling mural, inspired by the famous one at Munich’s Villa Stuck, is by artisan Willem Racké. First editions and rare books line bookshelves backed in wallpaper by Zak & Fox, with flourishes by Racké. The CH20 Elbow chairs are by Hans Wegner. Artisanal millwork is by Merritt Woodwork.

This story appears in the April 2024 issue of Town & Country, with the headline “Welcome to the Dumb House.” SUBSCRIBE NOW