Is it a Master Suite or the Primary Bedroom?

I have spent years watching residential building designers and homeowners, as well as realtors and builders, engage in debates over a single, seemingly simple question: What do you call that room on the floor plan?

On the surface, it sounds like harmless semantics. The words we choose do more than describe space; they quietly script how that space is meant to feel and function.

So before deciding which term “wins” on the plan, it might be worth asking a different question: what story are we telling about the people who live there—and are they the ones who should be writing it?

I recently came across a new name appearing on plans: an “Analog Room.” That one stopped me.

There’s a growing love for old-school tools and activities—think turntables, landline phones, analog clocks, board games, and retro musical instruments. They’re making a big comeback in our homes. It’s all part of a new way of thinking about living spaces. Homes aren’t just functional anymore—they’re becoming places to recharge, spark creativity, and connect with others.

More on that later. But first, this.

As designers, we started carving out “tech spaces” in the late 1990s and especially the early 2000s, as desktop computers and home internet became common household fixtures.

These spaces (rarely their own rooms) we labeled as “computer nooks,” “planning desks,” or “tech centers,” tucked off kitchens, in upstairs halls, or near family rooms to centralize the family PC for bill paying, email, and kids’ homework.

Builders promoted these small tech centers as must‑have upgrades, reflecting the shift from a single office-type study to a more casual, open tech hub accessible to the whole household.​

Into the 2010s, laptops, tablets, and Wi‑Fi untethered computing from fixed desks, making those little nooks less necessary. Homes were transitioning from no internet to always‑on broadband.

About the same time, flat‑panel TVs hit the consumer market.

As prices dropped and screens slimmed down, home designers quickly began integrating them into room layouts, shifting from deep “Entertainment Centers” for boxy CRTs to flat walls, over‑fireplace mounting (I know, let’s all cringe together), and dedicated media walls as a central focal point.

Humans seemed to be falling in love with gadgets and wanted them to have “their own space.”

Also coming onto the scene in the 2010s was the dedicated home office.

The driver was less gadget storage and more sustained, acoustically private knowledge work needing its own room.

On some plans, they often appeared as “home management centers,” sized for laptops and basic tasks, typically in kitchens or in circulation zones.

Before 2020, only a small percentage of workers were primarily remote; the pandemic pushed over a third of workers into work‑from‑home at once, making a proper office one of the top features buyers asked for.

Post‑2020 commentary in housing and building‑product circles consistently notes a shift from multipurpose dens or open tech spaces to clearly labeled, acoustically private home offices—occasionally, more than one in the same house.

Our brains are kind of wired to be that way, and maybe we’re finally beginning to realize it.

In the “science of design,” there’s a neurological principle: the brain reads space as instruction.

When work happens in the same physical zone every day, that zone becomes a neurological shortcut for “now we focus,” which improves task switching and reduces decision fatigue.

A clear work zone makes it easier for our minds to cycle between work and relaxation.

The question I have is, do our brains find the relaxing environments we’re creating confusing?

Great Rooms (or Gathering Rooms, let’s not debate) solved the “dead” formal living room by merging living and family spaces and aligning with more casual lifestyles.

The space also functioned as a visual showpiece, large and open, telegraphing volume and status in a growing economy.

Open layouts can enhance social interaction and shared visibility, which many people experience as emotionally supportive and mood‑lifting, especially in smaller homes where openness offsets tight square footage.

On the other hand, open layouts also mean noise and activity, and for people working, reading, or decompressing, that constant background stimulation can be overwhelming and anxiety‑provoking.

When everything—cooking, work, play, media, storage—is competing in one undifferentiated volume, humans are more vulnerable to distraction, cognitive fatigue, and difficulty downshifting, especially in busy households.

A home I lived in in Maryland had a Great Room and a separate Living Room.

All that existed in the Living Room was a fireplace, two recliners, and a small table in between to set our coffee or a cocktail, depending on the time of day. Okay, probably an area rug, too.

Yes, the wifi worked in that room, and I remember having my phone with me as I would relax. But it was a place for reading a book. A printed one, that is. Sometimes it was just for conversation or staring off into the fire.

Now that I look back, it was a place to disconnect.

I don’t know why I didn’t realize it then (that was 15 years ago now). Or see this coming sooner. But I believe our brains want to return to analog.

No, I’m not advocating for the formal living room, but I want to be ready to lead the conversation with those who entrust their home-building dreams to me.

Vinyl records began growing again around 2006–2007, marking the start of the modern “vinyl revival,” with double‑digit percentage increases year over year from that point.

Over the holidays, I found myself reaching for a paper planner again.

Those are only a couple of examples. Across design fields, this movement is about more than nostalgia—it’s about reclaiming sensory experience.

This past week, the Wall Street Journal reported on a couple who both work in tech, who made an unexpectedly old-timey decision during the renovation of their 1928 Washington, D.C., home last year. They had planned to use a spacious, unfinished basement room to store music equipment, but noticed that their children, all under age 21, kept disappearing down there for hours to entertain themselves without the aid of tablets or TVs.

Inspired, the duo brought a new directive to their design team. The subterranean space would become an “analog room”: a studiously screen-free zone where the family could play board games together, practice instruments, listen to records, or just lounge about lazily, undistracted by devices.

Two days later, lavocediNewYork.com posted, “Designers and architects report growing demand for a home that is a refuge for mental well-being, creativity, and social interaction.” And, labeled them, “Analog Rooms.”

In a July 2025 LinkedIn article, business consultant and executive coach Kelli Richards wrote, “This isn’t about rejecting progress. It’s about reclaiming presence.”

In terms of a floor plan, what does reclaiming presence look like? Here’s what I found.

• Create a tech-free space - Instead of unplugging the Wi-Fi box, try creating a no-phone or no-screen space to encourage meaningful interactions or quiet time.
• Embrace nostalgia - Include items like vinyl records, family heirlooms, or vintage decor to create a comforting, nostalgic atmosphere.
• Create work/life separation - Designate specific areas for work and relaxation to maintain clear boundaries and avoid burnout.
• Hide away the TV - If it has to be a multi-purpose space, use cabinets or creative covers to keep the TV out of sight and make your space feel less screen-focused.
• Design softer lighting - Swap harsh overhead lighting for warm lamps, string lights, or dimmers to create a more calming ambiance.
• Go biophilic - Incorporate natural elements like plants, wood, or stone to bring a sense of the outdoors into your home.
• Show off your books - Display your books in a prominent space to add personality and encourage screen-free leisure time.

Bookshelves may now rival the ‘blur’ as the most common Zoom background. Just saying. ¯_(ツ)_/¯

How do we begin the conversation with current or prospective clients?

Start with context. Make this opening statement:

• Before we talk rooms and square footage, I’d like to understand how you live and what you’re hoping this home will do for you.

Follow up with questions:

• Walk me through a typical weekday and a weekend in your ideal home. Where do you wake up, where do you work, where do you unwind?
• Who will live here now, and who might join you in the next 5–10 years (kids, aging parents, frequent guests, pets)?
• What about your current home really doesn’t work for you?

Now that you’ve got them warmed up and thinking:

• If we had to simplify everything, what are the top three things this home must do for you? And what would feel like a ‘wow’?
• Are there activities you’d love to have a dedicated spot for—reading, music, crafts, journaling, or just a quiet chair with a good light?

And my personal favorite:

• When you imagine walking into this home at the end of a long day, what three words describe how you want it to feel?

Then summarize aloud: “What I’m hearing is that you want X, Y, and Z, you’re frustrated by A and B, and your priorities are 1, 2, and 3.”

Getting the information you need signals professionalism and gently opens the door to concepts like dedicated work zones and analog spaces later in the design process.

My bedroom is a fully analog space, no screens, clocks, or digital devices, at least until I plug in my phone to charge. Before typing this next sentence, I took a short break and relocated the charting station to my home office. Now it's fully analog.

This has caused me to think that we’re entering a new design age, one defined not by innovation alone but by discernment.

The goal now is not to do everything faster, but to decide which things deserve our time in the first place. To that end, the homes we design in the next decade may look more handcrafted, feel more personal, and sound just a little quieter.

And maybe that’s the point. In our search for simplicity, we’ve looped back to something far older and far wiser. The analog home isn’t a retreat. It’s a reminder of what makes us human.