# Those 14 Biophilic Design Patterns Everyone Talks About (And What They Actually Mean)
You know how sometimes you walk into a space and immediately feel better, but you can’t quite put your finger on why? I used to think that was just random luck until I stumbled down this rabbit hole of biophilic design research. Turns out there are these fourteen specific patterns that designers use to make spaces feel more connected to nature, and once you know about them, you start seeing them everywhere.
I first came across these patterns in this documentary about hospital design – apparently there’s actual science behind why some buildings make us feel terrible and others make us feel amazing. The narrator mentioned something called the fourteen patterns of biophilic design, and being the obsessive person I am when I find something interesting, I spent the next three hours googling everything I could find about them.
What I discovered was pretty mind-blowing. These aren’t just random design ideas someone made up – they’re based on decades of research about how humans respond to natural environments. Each pattern taps into something that’s apparently hardwired into our brains from thousands of years of evolution. We’re literally designed to feel good around certain types of spaces, and most modern buildings ignore this completely.
The patterns fall into three main categories, which makes them easier to understand. The first group is about direct connections to nature – actual plants, water, animals, natural light, that kind of thing. The second group covers indirect connections, like natural materials, views of nature, and patterns that mimic what you’d see in natural settings. The third group gets into the more psychological stuff – how spaces can make us feel safe or curious or connected to something bigger than ourselves.
I started trying to incorporate these patterns into my apartment, and honestly, some attempts worked better than others. The “Visual Connection with Nature” pattern was pretty straightforward – I moved my desk so I could see the tree outside my window while working. That one made an immediate difference in how I felt during those endless Zoom meetings. But when I tried to create what’s called a “Mystery” pattern by hanging curtains to partially obscure the view into my bedroom, it just made the place feel smaller and weirder.
The “Refuge” pattern has been my most successful experiment so far. I created this little reading nook in the corner of my living room using a bookshelf as a partial wall and adding some soft lighting. There’s something about having your back protected and a clear view of the room that just feels inherently comfortable. I read somewhere that it goes back to our cave-dwelling ancestors who needed to feel safe while still being able to spot potential threats. Sounds dramatic for my tiny apartment, but the psychology definitely works.
Water features fall under the “Non-Visual Connection with Nature” pattern, and let me tell you, that eight-dollar fountain from the thrift store has been one of my best purchases. The sound of trickling water somehow makes my whole apartment feel more peaceful. I didn’t expect such a small thing to have such a big impact, but there’s research showing that water sounds can actually lower cortisol levels. Who knew?
Natural materials and colors are part of what they call “Material Connection with Nature.” I’ve been slowly replacing things in my apartment with wood, stone, and other natural materials when stuff wears out or breaks. My wooden cutting boards, the bamboo shower caddy, even just switching to cotton and linen fabrics instead of synthetic ones – it all adds up to make the space feel more grounded somehow.
The “Biomorphic Forms and Patterns” one is trickier to pull off without looking like you’re trying too hard. This is about incorporating shapes and patterns that mimic nature – the spiral of a shell, the branching pattern of trees, that kind of thing. I found this lamp at a yard sale that has these organic, flowing lines that remind me of plant stems, and it works way better than the geometric one I had before. But I’ve seen people go overboard with this and end up with spaces that look like a nature theme park.
There’s something called “Complexity and Order” that’s supposed to mirror the way natural environments have lots of detail but still feel organized. Think about how a forest has incredible diversity but doesn’t feel chaotic. I’m still figuring this one out, but I think it’s about layering different textures and elements without making everything look cluttered. Easier said than done in a small apartment.
The “Prospect” pattern is about having good sightlines and feeling like you can see what’s coming. This goes back to that evolutionary thing about needing to spot predators, I guess. In practical terms, it means arranging furniture so you’re not facing a wall with your back to the room. I rearranged my living room setup so I can see both the entrance and the window from my couch, and it definitely feels less claustrophobic.
“Risk and Peril” sounds scary, but it’s really about experiencing the controlled thrill you might get from being up high or near water. Obviously you can’t recreate standing at the edge of a cliff in your living room, but even something like a balcony with a good view can trigger this response. My apartment doesn’t have a balcony, but I’ve noticed I feel more energized when I’m near the window on the fourth floor versus when I’m sitting in the middle of the room.
The patterns that deal with natural light and air movement are probably the most important ones, but they’re also the hardest to control as a renter. “Thermal and Airflow Variability” is about having subtle changes in temperature and air movement, like you’d experience outside. I can’t install a whole ventilation system, but opening windows to create cross-breezes when the weather’s nice makes a huge difference in how the space feels.
“Temporal Connection with Nature” is about connecting to natural rhythms – day and night cycles, seasonal changes, weather patterns. I set up these smart bulbs that gradually change color temperature throughout the day, mimicking sunrise and sunset. It’s not perfect, but it helps my circadian rhythm way more than those harsh overhead fluorescents I used to rely on.
The “Mystery” pattern is supposed to create intrigue and draw you deeper into a space. In nature, this might be a path that curves out of sight, making you curious about what’s around the bend. I haven’t nailed this one in my apartment – most of my attempts just made things feel cramped. But I’ve noticed it in buildings around the city where they use partial walls or changes in ceiling height to create that sense of discovery.
What’s interesting is how these patterns work together. You don’t need all fourteen to make a space feel better – even incorporating a few can make a noticeable difference. And they don’t require expensive renovations. Some of my most successful changes cost less than twenty bucks and took an hour to implement.
I’ve started paying attention to these patterns when I’m out and about, and it’s wild how obvious they become once you know what to look for. The coffee shop where I actually want to linger has plants, natural light, views outside, comfortable seating arrangements that feel secure but not isolated. The office building where I used to work and felt miserable all the time? Basically none of these patterns. Just fluorescent lights, no windows, artificial materials everywhere, and furniture arranged with no thought to how humans actually want to position themselves in space.
The research backing up these patterns is pretty compelling. Studies show that spaces incorporating biophilic design can reduce stress, improve cognitive function, and even help people heal faster. There’s this famous study about hospital patients recovering more quickly when they had views of nature versus views of brick walls. It’s not just that nature is pretty to look at – our brains are literally wired to respond positively to these environmental cues.
I’m not saying my apartment is some kind of biophilic paradise now. I still live in a rental with beige walls and limited natural light. I’ve killed more plants than I care to admit, and some of my design experiments have been total failures. But understanding these patterns has given me a framework for making incremental improvements that actually matter.
The biggest revelation for me has been realizing that this isn’t about having perfect spaces or expensive features. It’s about understanding what humans need from their environments and finding creative ways to provide those elements within whatever constraints you’re working with. Small changes that acknowledge our connection to nature can have surprisingly big impacts on how we feel day to day.
If you’re curious about trying some of this stuff yourself, I’d suggest starting with whatever patterns seem most achievable in your situation. Maybe it’s just moving your workspace closer to a window, or adding some plants, or paying attention to how you arrange your furniture. The patterns that work best will depend on your specific space and lifestyle, but the underlying principle is the same – we feel better in environments that echo the natural world where humans evolved.
It’s kind of amazing that we have to consciously design this stuff back into our lives when it used to just be the default condition of human existence. But since we’re stuck with modern buildings that ignore our basic psychological needs, at least we have these patterns to help us create spaces that work with our biology instead of against it.
Jeff writes about bringing bits of nature into everyday living spaces — not as a designer, but as a curious renter who experiments, fails, and keeps trying again. He shares what he’s learned about light, plants, and small changes that make big differences for real people living in ordinary apartments.
