Walking through Berlin today, it’s easy to take Bauhaus modernist buildings for granted. They’re so embedded in the city’s fabric that it’s almost hard to imagine a Berlin without them. When Walter Gropius founded the Bauhaus school in 1919, Germany was still reeling from WWI. His idea was radical: bring art and industry together to build a new world—one where design was functional, accessible, and, crucially, for everyone. It wasn’t just style; it was a statement.

Fast forward a century, and Bauhaus has gone from revolutionary to ubiquitous, blending seamlessly into cities across the globe. But now Germany’s far-right party, the AfD, wants to shake things up. They’re sick of the Bauhaus. In fact, they’re calling it “un-German,” even soulless, blaming it for erasing traditional German aesthetics. They’re after something different—a return to a time when German cities looked like quaint towns, not concrete jungles.

Let’s get one thing clear: this isn’t just architecture. The AfD’s real problem with Bauhaus is that it symbolizes a world they think they’ve lost—a world unblemished by globalization, immigration, or rapid change. They want to rewind the clock to some romanticized version of Germany where half-timbered houses and “authentic” German aesthetics ruled the streets. Bauhaus, with its minimalism and universality, threatens that vision.

The Irony of AfD’s Attack on Bauhaus

The AfD’s nostalgia for traditional German architecture ignores one major fact. Bauhaus itself was born as a reaction to Germany’s own chaotic, imperialistic history. The Bauhaus didn’t emerge to “sterilize” German culture; it was a way to rebuild it from the ground up. In Gropius’s time, Germany was desperate for something fresh, something functional, something democratic. Bauhaus was about giving people access to good design, not preserving some elite, baroque ideal.

And while AfD might see Bauhaus as “elitist,” the irony is that Bauhaus’s mission was the exact opposite. It aimed to bring good design to the everyday German, not just to the elite in opulent palaces. It was about utility, simplicity, and, yes, beauty. Bauhaus wasn’t anti-German; it was just trying to create a Germany that could endure

Pure Bauhaus?

Here’s a thought experiment, would a city built entirely in Bauhaus be beautiful? Or, for that matter, would a purely “traditional” German city be? The reality is that both would feel lifeless. Bauhaus buildings are sleek and functional, but on their own, they’d create a city that feels a bit sterile, lacking the warmth and texture that comes from blending styles. Similarly, a city stuck in the past, with only half-timbered houses and “authentic” German façades, would be like living in a theme park. Interesting for a few minutes, sure, but ultimately stifling.

What makes cities like Berlin captivating isn’t purity; it’s diversity. Berlin is at its best when Bauhaus stands alongside a mix of Baroque facades, Soviet relics, and contemporary creations. This blend gives the city a layered identity—a sense of history interwoven with forward-thinking design. It’s a city that breathes, evolves, and surprises. Pure Bauhaus modernism would surely flatten that, and pure traditionalism would stifle it as well.

Why Maximalism Is Making a Comeback

Look around, and you’ll see that people are craving variety in design now more than ever. Maximalism—a vibrant, colorful, even chaotic aesthetic—is making a comeback. It’s no coincidence. We’re all tired of the clean lines, the sterile digital aesthetics, the minimalist perfection that Bauhaus helped shape. In an era of screens and sameness, people want texture, color, and a bit of controlled chaos. Maximalism feels human; minimalism, especially in excess, can feel a bit too perfect for comfort.

The AfD’s criticism of Bauhaus taps into this feeling, but with a twist. They want to use this critique to reinforce a narrow vision of “German identity” that leaves no room for change, influence, or outside ideas. Bauhaus, as a “global” style, becomes an easy scapegoat—a symbol of everything they claim is ruining Germany’s cultural “purity.” But here’s the truth: German cities have always evolved, absorbing influences from beyond their borders, adapting to new realities. To want a purely German aesthetic is not only simplistic—it’s fundamentally out of touch with what makes cities thrive.

Global Language and Local Asset

Part of the charm of any great city is its openness to change and adaptation. Bauhaus doesn’t just belong to Germany; it’s a style that has influenced skylines from Chicago to Tel Aviv. Its universality isn’t a weakness; it’s a strength, showing how ideas born in one place can inspire across borders. By attacking Bauhaus, the AfD is effectively rejecting a piece of German heritage that has been celebrated globally—an export that speaks to Germany’s forward-thinking potential.

Embracing the Tension.

So, does Bauhaus still have a place in Germany today? Absolutely, but maybe not in its unchanged form. Bauhaus wasn’t meant to be a static aesthetic; it was a philosophy of adaptability and accessibility. Imagine a Bauhaus that reflects today’s values—a design approach that’s minimalist yet warm, functional yet inviting, universal yet local. A Bauhaus for today would combine tradition and innovation, creating spaces that are uniquely German but not bound by some outdated idea of purity.

In the end, cities aren’t meant to be monuments to a singular vision. They’re at their best when they embrace contrast, tension, and evolution. Berlin didn’t become iconic by staying in one lane; it became iconic by mixing and matching, by building a layered identity that resonates with the complexity of life itself. Bauhaus isn’t the enemy here; if anything, it’s a reminder that real identity isn’t rigid—it’s dynamic, layered, and beautifully contradictory. The AfD’s dream of a “pure” German aesthetic doesn’t honor Germany’s heritage; it erases the richness that makes it real.