Marc Jacobs has built a career on taking risks—pushing fashion forward, courting controversy, and now, apparently, renovating a Frank Lloyd Wright house he bought on a whim. In 2019, the designer dropped $9.17 million on a Wright-designed property. Not because he was a lifelong admirer of the architect, but because he was bored. Or so he'd have you believe. The result? A painstaking restoration that's less about preserving history and more about Jacobs bending Wright's rigid geometry to his own whims.
Let's be clear: this isn't your average celebrity home flip. Wright's houses are architectural relics, often protected by strict preservation laws and adored by purists who'd sooner see a building crumble than see a single wall painted a non-approved color. Jacobs, a man who once put Kate Moss on a T-shirt and called it fashion, was never going to play by those rules.
The Whim That Started It All
Jacobs claims he bought the house—a Usonian masterpiece built in the 1950s—without a clear plan. "I saw it, I loved it, and I bought it," he said in a recent interview. But a whim at that price tag sounds more like a midlife crisis or a savvy investment. The property, located in a tony enclave, was in a state of disrepair, which is designer-speak for "a total dump that needs millions in structural work."
The Usonian style, Wright's attempt at affordable, middle-class housing, is known for its flat roofs, cantilevered overhangs, and use of natural materials. It's also notoriously difficult to live in—low ceilings, cramped rooms, and a layout that prioritizes the architect's vision over human comfort. Jacobs, who is accustomed to luxury and space, had his work cut out for him.
Renovation vs. Preservation: A Clash of Wills
From the start, Jacobs made it clear he wasn't interested in a museum piece. He wanted to live in the house, not worship it. That meant upgrading the kitchen, modernizing the bathrooms, and—gasp—adding air conditioning. To the horror of preservationists, he also removed some of Wright's signature built-in furniture to make room for his own collection. As he put it, "I don't want to live in a time capsule. I want it to be my home."
But even Jacobs found himself butting heads with the Wright Foundation, which has a say in any alterations. The negotiation process was, by all accounts, a headache. Jacobs wanted to expand a bedroom; the foundation said no. He wanted to change the window mullions; they said no. He wanted to knock down a wall; they said absolutely not. The back-and-forth dragged on for months, with Jacobs reportedly losing his patience more than once.
"It's like designing a dress and having someone tell you the hemline is non-negotiable," Jacobs said, clearly frustrated by the constraints.
In the end, they reached a compromise: Jacobs could modernize the infrastructure but had to keep the exterior and major interior elements intact. The result is a hybrid—part Wright, part Jacobs—that neither purists nor fashionistas fully embrace. But that's exactly the point.
What a Fashion Designer Brings to Architecture
Jacobs approached the renovation like a collection: he started with a mood board, selected a palette, and obsessed over every detail. He chose a muted, earthy color scheme that complements Wright's use of wood and stone, but he injected his own flair with unexpected textures and contemporary art. "I wanted it to feel like me, but in Wright's world," he explained.
The result is surprisingly harmonious. The living room, with its dramatic ceiling and banks of windows, feels airy and light—a departure from Wright's typically dark, cave-like interiors. Jacobs added sleek, minimalist furniture that contrasts with Wright's heavy, built-in pieces. And in a bold move, he painted the exterior a deep, charcoal black, a color Wright would never have chosen. The neighbors were horrified. Jacobs didn't care.
His fashion background also informed his approach to light and space. "In fashion, you think about how a garment moves and how it frames the body," he said. "In architecture, it's about how a room frames a person's life." That perspective led him to prioritize natural light, open sightlines, and a sense of flow that Wright himself might have appreciated—had he not been rolling in his grave over the black paint.
The Cost of a Vision
Renovations like this don't come cheap. Jacobs reportedly spent an additional $10 million on the overhaul—more than the purchase price itself. That figure includes custom millwork, state-of-the-art systems, and a team of craftsmen who specialized in historical restoration. But for a man whose net worth is estimated at over $200 million, it's a drop in the bucket. Still, it raises the question: was it worth it?
From a financial standpoint, probably yes. Wright homes are rare and highly coveted. With the renovation complete, the property could fetch a premium if Jacobs ever decides to sell. But he says he's not in it for the money. "I bought it because I wanted a project, something to pour myself into," he said. "And I got that—plus a lot of gray hairs."
Jacobs' gamble mirrors the risks he's taken in fashion, from grunge for Perry Ellis to his own label's ups and downs. Sometimes those risks pay off; sometimes they flop. But he approaches everything with the same audacity. "You have to be willing to fail," he said. "If you're not, you'll never do anything original."
But not everyone is applauding. Critics argue that Jacobs' renovation whitewashes Wright's original intent, turning a democratic vision of housing into a billionaire's playground. "Wright believed in affordable, accessible design," said one architectural historian. "This is just another rich guy imposing his ego on a masterpiece."
Jacobs dismisses such criticism. "The house is a piece of art," he said. "But art should evolve. It shouldn't be frozen in amber."
So, does the renovation work? That depends on your perspective. If you're a Wright purist, you're probably apoplectic. If you're a fan of Jacobs' aesthetic, you might see a thoughtful marriage of two creative visions. The truth lies somewhere in between.
What is undeniable is that Jacobs has succeeded in making the house his own. The fashion world has long known that he's a master of reinvention. Now, architecture lovers have seen it too—whether they like it or not.
As for Jacobs, he's already moved on to other projects, leaving behind a house that will spark debate for years to come. "I'm not trying to be Frank Lloyd Wright," he said with a shrug. "I'm just trying to be Marc Jacobs." And that, perhaps, is the only philosophy that matters.
