Vermont’s Act 250 is one of the most influential environmental laws in the country. Since 1970, it has governed what can and cannot be built across the state. Few Vermonters, though, have ever read it—and fewer still realize that buried inside it are provisions that regulate aesthetics. Not pollution. Not traffic. Aesthetics.

That means a project can be denied not because it harms the land or water, but because a state board decides it would “look wrong.”

The Rules No One Voted For

Under Act 250, nine District Environmental Commissions review major projects using ten broad “criteria.” Most deal with tangible impacts: water, erosion, traffic, and waste. But Criterion 8 and its offshoots dive straight into the subjective:

Criterion 8: “The proposed project will not have an undue adverse effect on the scenic or natural beauty, aesthetics, historic sites, or rare and irreplaceable natural areas.”
Criterion 8(A): “The project will not destroy or significantly imperil scenic beauty, historic sites, or rare and irreplaceable natural areas.”
Criterion 8(B): “The project will not destroy or significantly imperil necessary wildlife habitat or any endangered species.”
Criterion 8(C) (effective December 31, 2026): “The project will not fragment forest blocks or habitat connectors.”

Just before these, the Act directs commissions to consider “visual aesthetics, odor, and noise.” In practice, that means a project’s appearance, smell, or sound can trigger the same scrutiny as runoff or pollution.

Decisions often hinge on whether something is “in harmony with its surroundings.” That phrase appears repeatedly in Environmental Board precedent. There is no formula—no decibel threshold for beauty or spreadsheet for “scenic harmony.” The result is that development in Vermont must pass not only an environmental test but a taste test.

What “Beauty” Meant Last Time Around

To see how fragile that logic is, it helps to look backward.

If Act 250 had existed 100 years earlier, Vermont might look nothing like it does today.
By the late 1800s, more than 70 percent of the state had been clear-cut for sheep farming. The “Green Mountains” were mostly brown hillsides—open pastures, stone walls, and bare ridges. Farmers and travelers at the time would have described the view as “splendidly pastoral.”

Had regulators in 1850 applied today’s aesthetic standard, they might have banned reforestation altogether. “Forests,” they could have said, “destroy the scenic agrarian character of our beloved Vermont.”

Likewise, if they’d enforced a rule against “non-natural surfaces,” we’d still be driving on dirt and cobblestone, since pavement is, after all, a petroleum product that “disrupts the natural landscape.”

Every generation freezes its own preferences and calls them timeless. Act 250’s aesthetic clauses do exactly that—locking a particular 1970s vision of Vermont into law.

When Subjectivity Becomes Policy

Supporters of Criterion 8 say it protects the shared landscape that defines Vermont. Critics argue it transforms personal preference into regulatory power. Both are correct in part.

Courts have upheld these rules under the state’s “police power” to protect the public welfare. They’ve reasoned that aesthetics can influence “community well-being and property values.” Yet there’s no mathematical way to value a view. Appraisers rely on cost, comparable sales, and income; none contain a coefficient for scenic compatibility. What buyers like may change with fashion. Markets express preference, not truth.

That means the Act’s aesthetic standards are not objective protections—they are collective opinions with the force of law.

The Constitutional Conflict

Vermont’s Constitution anticipates this tension. Chapter I, Article 2 declares:

“Private property ought to be subservient to public uses when necessity requires it; nevertheless, whenever any person’s property is taken for the use of the public, the owner ought to receive an equivalent in money.”

Act 250 doesn’t seize land outright; it slices away use rights through layered restrictions. Landowners still pay taxes and maintain their property but must seek permission to exercise ordinary control over it. Economically, that functions as a regulatory taking—a transfer of authority without compensation.

Proponents argue that no one truly owns land outright because its effects—air, water, wildlife, view—extend beyond parcel boundaries. Opponents counter that if the public wants control, it should bear the cost. “Shared stewardship,” they say, becomes “compulsory altruism” when it’s enforced through permits.

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The Dollars and Cents of “Harmony”

Whatever one’s philosophy, the economics are straightforward.
Each layer of review—consultants, attorneys, engineers, visual-impact studies—adds cost. Each delay adds interest on borrowed capital. Developers price that risk into financing and pass it along to the end buyer.

A typical housing project might see 10–30 percent of its budget consumed by compliance and revision. That translates directly into higher rents and sale prices.

Then there’s the hidden cost: uncertainty. Because decisions under Criterion 8 depend on interpretation, lenders view Vermont projects as riskier investments. Higher perceived risk means higher required return on investment.

The equation is simple:

Cost + Complexity + Delay + Risk + Profit = Price.

The result is the familiar story: limited supply, soaring demand, and unaffordable housing. In effect, Vermonters are paying a scenic-beauty premium on everything from homes to utilities.

From Caution to Reflex

When Act 250 passed in 1970, its intent was understandable. Interstate 89 had opened, big box stores were appearing, and residents feared losing what made Vermont distinct. But over five decades, what began as an environmental safeguard has become a reflex of control—an automatic bureaucratic response that persists regardless of context.

The commissions that administer it now form their own ecosystem of lawyers, consultants, and nonprofit advocates. Their livelihoods depend on the process continuing. Culturally, the idea that “strict regulation keeps Vermont Vermont” has become axiomatic—even as the cost of that conviction prices out the very people it claims to protect.

A Question of Consent

No Vermonter ever cast a ballot for “collective aesthetic regulation.” Yet every new house, farm structure, or business must satisfy it.

The question, then, is not whether Vermont should protect its environment—everyone agrees it should—but whether beauty, noise, or “harmony” belong in the same category as water quality and pollution control.

Because when subjective taste becomes enforceable policy, the definition of “beautiful Vermont” stops evolving. And if history teaches anything, it’s that today’s beauty is tomorrow’s hindsight.

The next time someone wonders why it costs so much to live here, they might start by asking: Did you vote for collective aesthetic regulations?

Dave Soulia | FYIVT

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