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Dodo: A flightless bird discovered by Portuguese sailors on the island of Mauritius in 1598. It was dubbed "dodo" -- meaning simpleton -- for its perceived stupidity. Having never encountered humans or other predators before, these kind and gentle birds were extinct by the 1680s.

Insulbrick: A thin, exterior asphalt siding resembling brick commonly used by North Americans in the mid-20th century. It came in large sheets that were nailed on by simpleton homeowners who were tired of painting.

In the 1970s, it was made practically extinct by aluminum and vinyl siding salesman.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not shedding a tear for insulbrick, even though I grew up in a little house in East York that was enrobed in great big lavender-coloured sheets of it. It's just that, as the architourist, I feel a responsibility to present things you've been too busy to notice, and, lately, I've been thinking about how building materials come into and go out of fashion, like, well, fashion.

Many materials have gone the way of the dodo, but some didn't deserve to die. Insulbrick, when you can find it at all, effortlessly demonstrates the myriad reasons for its fall from grace: it bulges, curls, and when it rips, which is often, it leaves behind a disgusting black residue. And it never fooled anyone into thinking it was real brick or stone. (Interestingly, it's called "ghetto brick" in the Southern United States.)

But fellow dodo T-111 siding -- tongue-and-groove plywood sheets that fit together to form a seamless covering with a nice geometric look -- might be poised to make a comeback. Recently, a New York Times article on a couple in Stone Ridge, N.Y., explained how architect Erin Vali kept costs on their house to $185 (U.S.) a square foot. One of the biggest cost-saving measures, author Elaine Louie wrote, was the choice of T-111 fir plywood "at $2.37 a square foot, instead of the conventional two layers of materials, which would have cost about $6.60 a square foot."

Looking around the Midland Park subdivision were I live, I had to smile at all the T-111 that architect Ted Ross chose more than 45 years ago. It still looks good, so it's a mystery why more builders don't use the stuff.

Unfortunately, some materials get forever linked to a particular era, making it hard to use them without irony.

Glass block, for example, was first used in the early 1800s to allow light to penetrate the bowels of ships, but it's usually associated with just two eras. Beginning with the Maison de Verre in Paris, the art deco age of the 1930s went nuts for it, and by the 1940s it was everywhere, including in ordinary Toronto buildings. Then, it found new life in the Miami Vice-inspired interiors of the 1980s, except this time there usually was hidden neon lighting in hot pink or lime green involved.

Sandwiched between the Jazz Age and the Don Johnson Age was the Age of Glazed Brick. Although it has actually been around for centuries, glazed brick's sleek and shiny complexion, combined with the fact that modernist architects used it excessively, will forever link it to the 1950s and '60s.

It's at its best when used as punctuation beside a matte brick wall. Found on only a small percentage of single-family homes, glazed brick was practically a worldwide standard for office and apartment buildings in the postwar period.

"Flagcrete" cladding, on the other hand, was a phenomena of the Sun Belt states in general, and California "Googie coffee shop" architecture in particular. Impossible to buy today, it was an artificial flagstone made by pouring concrete into thin moulds to create a lightweight alternative to the real thing.

In Toronto, the only exterior example I've found is Senior's Restaurant on Yonge Street south of St. Clair Avenue. For interiors, I need look no further than my own rec room fireplace, and the hundreds of others in suburban Ontario, although in our neck of the woods it's more likely to be called "angelstone." Today, its closest cousin is Cultured Stone by Owens Corning.

Moving indoors, fashions change far more rapidly. Up until about a year ago, wallpaper was considered passé; now it's the hottest new design trend. Formica, that old reliable laminated countertop surface, is still widely used despite sexier granite countertops making all the magazine spreads.

Actually, Formica's most iconic pattern, "Skylark" (renamed "Boomerang" to better identify the jaunty shapes depicted), has been a darling, a dodo and then a darling again. It was reissued in 1988 when retro diner-style kitchens were all the rage, then decommissioned in 1997, only to be re-reissued in 2005 for the growing number of younger couples restoring mid-century ranch-style homes to their former glory. It was created in 1950 by Milwaukee-based industrial designer Brooks Stevens and later altered by Raymond Loewy.

And as for that wood panelling that every do-it-yourselfer installed back in the 1960s and '70s, I'm praying it remains a dodo -- my wife and I just tossed out five perfectly good sheets when we renovated our home office.

Dave LeBlanc hosts The Architourist on CFRB Sunday mornings. Inquiries can be sent to dave.leblanc@globeandmail.com.