Trends are an inescapable part of the design world, whether they're intentional or not. They happen in fashion, music, art, furniture, product design, and architecture. A design must be popular in order to qualify as a trend, but popular to whom?
Trends are initiated by profitability. Individuals like to think that they set trends and the market responds to what they want. In reality, however, it's the opposite. A teen walks into an American Eagle store in New York and picks out an off-the-shoulder sweater and feels that she just made her own choice with her own purchasing power, but she actually bought it because that's what American Eagle produced and placed in that store, which is different from what they placed in the Miami store. The youngster thinks she has come across a new style that she sports at school the next day, starting a "new trend" of off-the-shoulder sweaters. But, really, who started that trend? Ten years later, she remembers that off-the-shoulder sweaters were so "in" and thinks, "How I wish they'd bring those back." Ah, there it is; simply by saying that, you relinquish your power to create trends. You admit that someone else has to bring it back, therefore someone else must have brought it to light in the first place. If it were you, you'd have the autonomy to bring it back yourself.
So what starts a trend? Let's rephrase this to: What starts a typology?
Thinking of architectural typologies, there are a few signature ones that immediately come to the American mind: strip mall plazas and ranch-style homes of the 20th century, textile mills and brownstones of the 19th century, Georgians of the 18th century, and 5-over-1s of the 21st century, which are a hot subject of critique and disapproval lately, as thoroughly expressed in Anna Kode's New York Times article.
All of these typologies defined their respective generations. But none of them were born to represent the creativity and individuality of their users or creators. They were born to serve a purpose in a cost-effective way. Kode notes that there are typologies that people didn't like when they emerged, such as dingbats and brownstones, that are now found endearing or nostalgic. And she wonders if that could happen again with the viral 5-over-1s - an apartment typology that appears to be developers' cure for a raging lack of housing. Maybe, but there's one thing that 5-over-1s do that the other archetypes don't - they appear everywhere, in cities across the country. As her article playfully points out with quizzes, it's difficult, if not impossible, to tell where any of these buildings exist. If you show someone a photo of a brownstone, they at least know it's a building in the Northeast, not Nebraska. They can also guess that a dingbat is somewhere further southwest like Arizona or Texas. At least these projects are representative of their geographic locations. 5-over-1s don't offer or respond to the same kind of context. Future generations looking at photos of these buildings won't be able to guess where these buildings exist, who designed them, or what they represent. They're generic, placeless, and cheap - every architect's nightmare. Based on the comments left on Kode's article, they rub very many people the wrong way.
I'm not a fan of these 5-over-1s either. Part of me wants to believe that hating this kind of archetypal atrocity is a recurring growing pain of society, that every generation feels this way about their changing world - they hate it in the moment but long for it when it’s gone. But another part of me believes that these “designs” are knee-jerk, cheap responses to a complicated economic and urban issue.
So, what do we do about it? Why are they being built and why are they being built in the way that they are? Is there anything we common folk can do about a trend that we didn't start?
The first thing to note is that 5-over-1s are mid-rise projects, many of them just barely so; a few inches higher and they would be high-rises as classified by municipal zoning and would be subject to different regulations.
The second thing to note is that these projects max out the floor area ratio (FAR) for their sites, meaning that they fit just about as much floor space within their footprint as possible. Any sensible developer isn't going to intentionally opt for a lower FAR than what they're allowed because they want to maximize their leasable floor space to make as much money as possible. That's a fact that no NIMBY neighbor is going to change. Humans are greedy. But why are they 5-over-1? Five what? And one what?
They're typically five floors of residential space over one floor that has a mix of resident amenities (fitness center, dog wash, lobby, bocci court) and likely some kind of retail. There is also likely to be parking at grade or maybe below grade (below ground). The ground floor likely has to be Type 1b construction - concrete and steel to meet certain fire code regulations that accompany public spaces - and is around 20’ high, aka “double-height”. This level is likely a simple boxy shape around 60-70’ wide that’s an efficiently sized “podium” (architecture jargon) for what’s above - a double-loaded corridor of residential units. Floors 2-5 are wood structure because it's cheaper than steel and these are private spaces - Type 5a - that have different fire code regulations than Type 1b below. These levels are usually around 11’ floor-to-floor to accommodate 9’ ceilings and the building mechanical systems that go in the ceilings between each level. This is why these buildings are all built the same - they’re big, but not too big, and they’re cheap.
Again, humans are greedy, so residential rental spaces are maxed out, leaving one-bedroom units at about 600 or 650 SF and two-bedroom units at about 850-1000 SF. All private bedrooms need access to fresh air, so they all have a window. This means that the window placement and rhythm are semi-prescribed on the building facades, as is the placement of laundry and kitchen exhausts.
So the height, volume, and fenestration of the buildings are basically pre-determined. Is there any room left for creativity? Only on the materials, colors, some minor detailing and the furniture selection in the lobby... maybe.
Many large developers have brand books that have already selected their materials and finishes. You work with them, you use those materials. Developers could spin this in a positive way, "Save time in the design process when you work with us - you don't even have to worry about selecting and specifying the bathroom fixtures, we've done this for you!" But when you spin this from the view of the end user, you get endlessly repeating monotony.
Okay, so let's get creative with the facade materials and colors.
For exterior materials, there are definitely the big whigs of manufacturers in the architectural materials industry that are popular choices for architects to specify, but there is some variety. If it's in a Northeast climate, we’re going to use an insulated metal panel (some kind of gray/beige or muted tone) or fiber cement (some other muted tone) rainscreen to drain water easily and mitigate the moisture that gets caught in the facade. No mold, please. If we're in the Southwest, the outside of the building should reflect the surrounding desert-scape, so only beige and tan will do. Oh sure, throw in some orange or red you crazy kid! We don't want a boring building that looks like all the others now do we? So let's splash in an occasional green, blue, yellow, maybe even purple... And let's go with geometric shapes, they're easier and more cost-effective to produce.
Overhangs - big chunky overhangs - and frames seem to be all the rage. I'm not so sure these are a functional response to anything except perhaps shading; I think they're a quick fix for adding visual variety so maybe you won't really notice how regular this building is. They're also a quick value engineering (VE) solution - if we need to cut costs, these fun features are fast to meet the chopping block along with any unnecessary jogs in the building’s envelope; think bay windows. Developers know that “corners cost money” and know that cutting corners (literally) is a way to reduce their expenses.
So after all this, we're left with what Nashville, Denver, Seattle, and hundreds of other American cities also have - market-rate “luxury” housing that displaces truly affordable housing and simultaneously dilutes all urban identity. We might be putting up more housing in more cities but what will we face 30, 40, or 50 years from now? If we're nostalgic for this homogeneity, I don't even want to know what housing looks like in the future. This is not design; it’s a classic case of out-of-touch investors trying to define and profit from cities they don’t live in. And you have no choice but to live in whatever product they put on the shelf.
What can you do about it? Anything?
One thing you can do is share articles like Kode’s and voice your opinions online. Publicity pressure is real, even for companies that seem too big to care. If there’s an ugly, placeless building going up in your neighborhood, find out who’s behind it and write to them. Please be critical and not hyperbolic or crass. All projects that go up have to get city approval, so voice your opinion at your city’s next planning or zoning meeting or join a local community group that advocates for good design in your city. Understand what makes your city unique and differentiates it from Denver, Nashville and Seattle and work to instill and strengthen those qualities in your own built environment.
Header image: 5-over-1. (2023, January 29). In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/5-over-1
Credits:
5-over-1. (2023, January 29). In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/5-over-1