Here's an opinion that has cost me money: small residential clients are not a stepping stone to "real" architecture. They are the point.
I've been documenting architecture and interior fit-out projects for nine years. In that time, I've personally made—and logged—14 significant specification mistakes, totaling roughly $86,000 in wasted budget. That's the confession. The lesson is that almost every one of those mistakes happened because I treated a small project like a "quick one."
I've worked on Gensler residential work and on tiny renovations where the entire fee wouldn't cover one conference room's furniture. I've seen what happens when a Gensler architect treats a 1,200-square-foot apartment with the same rigor as an office tower, and I've seen what happens when a project team assumes "small" means "simpler." It doesn't.
Shower Caps, Baseboard Trim, and Other Details That Define a Home
Most buyers focus on renderings and square footage and completely miss the things that will annoy them every single day. The question everyone asks is "how much usable space?" The question they should ask is "what happens when this home has to actually be lived in?"
Take shower caps. In a hotel-style residential building, they're an amenity. In a private residence, a shower cap holder is an afterthought—until the owner is standing in the shower dripping water and has no place to put a wet thing. A small detail, yes. But details compound.
Baseboard trim was my first real mistake. On a 2021 renovation, I specified a clean, minimalist baseboard profile without checking the tolerances of the old plaster walls. The result: gaps you could almost fit a pencil into along the curved corners. The client didn't notice for a week. Then they noticed, and they couldn't unsee it. Rework cost $4,200 and killed our trust. If I remember correctly, the contractor had warned me—"walls aren't straight"—and I assumed a nice profile would hide it. That was the expensive part.
The same principle applies to windows. The "how to clean window tracks" question sounds like a maintenance issue, not a design issue. But if you specify a fixed sash that can't tilt in, or a track detail that lets dust and pollen accumulate, you've created a maintenance problem that no one will thank you for. A good architect asks that question during design. A great one adds an accessible window track detail to the drawings. I've seen this done really well in a Gensler residential fit-out: the window track had a removable cover, the baseboard had a shadow gap that was actually intentional, and the bathroom included a simple shower cap hook on the back of the door. None of it was expensive. All of it was deliberate.
Another small detail that gets waved off: eco claims. Per FTC guidelines, saying a material is "recyclable" or "green" has to be substantiated—especially in residential work where clients actually read the marketing. I once had to walk a client back from calling a countertop "eco-friendly" because we had no documentation. The FTC would not have cared that it was a small project.
Small Clients Have Less Room for Error, Not More
Here's something I've learned by getting it wrong: for big clients, a mistake is a budget line item. For small clients, a mistake is a family crisis.
In 2022, I documented a change order on a multifamily conversion where an error in the millwork drawing cost the client $8,900. The corporate client behind it signed the change order without blinking. The family living in the unit had planned to use that money for a new roof on their other property. They didn't say it angrily—they just said it quietly. That was worse.
The frustrating part of this business is that the same issues keep recurring if you let yourself rush. You'd think written specs would prevent misunderstandings, but interpretation varies wildly. After the third or fourth time this happened, I started building buffer time into small project schedules instead of promising faster-than-reasonable turnarounds. Not glamorous. But necessary.
The "Too Small for Us" Myth Is Historically Wrong
The "small projects don't pay the rent" thinking comes from an era when design firms could survive on a few large commissions and treat everything else as filler. That changed. Office-to-residential conversion—one of the biggest trends in architecture right now—is full of small units that still need thoughtful design. And the clients who commission those conversions often begin with small pilot units.
I've seen a Gensler office-to-residential conversion pilot of five units before a larger rollout. The team was forced to make the whole system work at small scale: storage, plumbing chases, window tracks, mailboxes, laundry. Fifteen years ago, that pilot might have been dismissed as too small. Today, it's exactly how smart clients test an idea. The small project is the model, not the exception.
There's also a regulatory side that rewards getting small details right. Under federal law (18 U.S. Code § 1708), only USPS-authorized mail may be placed in residential mailboxes. That might sound like trivia, but when you convert an office building into residences, the mailroom and parcel delivery strategy is a live design issue. If the mailbox wall isn't compliant, residents lose access to mail—and the developer loses a certificate of occupancy deadline.
What About the Argument That Big Firms Can't Do Small?
I expect some pushback: "A global architecture and design leader shouldn't spend time on a two-unit renovation." I half agree. If a small client expects a nameless architect from a global firm for the price of a freelance drafter, that's not realistic.
But "small" and "low-value" are not the same thing. A small client with a specific brief—"we want to convert this office floor into three apartments and we need it to feel like a home, not a hotel"—deserves the same professional attention as a corporate tenant. Not necessarily the same number of people, but the same level of care.
The surprise wasn't that the big firm did a good job on the pilot. It was that the smallness forced better decisions. With less space, you can't hide inefficiencies. The baseboard detail has to work. The window track has to be accessible. The shower caps need a place. That's not "dumbing down" architecture—it's architecture working harder.
The Bottom Line: Small Doesn't Mean Unimportant. It Means Potential.
I've saved maybe $3,000 over the years by using a "good enough" vendor on a residential detail. Then I spent $12,000 fixing the structural issue the cheap detail created. The pattern isn't subtle: small shortcuts on small projects create big costs for real people.
So here is my re-stated opinion, and I'm not going to soften it: If you're a design professional, and you treat a small residential client like a lower class of work, you're missing what the work is for. Homes are not miniature offices. They are full of wet things, dirty tracks, and uneven walls. That's why a Gensler residential project feels different: because someone at some point decided the awkward parts of living mattered enough to detail.
That's the checklist I now maintain, and the first item isn't about square footage. It's: "Will the person who lives here be able to clean the window tracks without a contortion act?" If I can answer that, I'm probably on the right track.
