Join >4.6k subscribers and stay updated by getting the latest posts delivered directly to your inbox.
This map, showing the right-of-way widths of Toronto's major streets, is one of my favorite maps. It tells you so much about the scale of the city.
Even if you were entirely unfamiliar with Toronto, you could look at this map and gather from the width and spacing of its major arteries that the orange streets (20 meters) represent the oldest parts of Toronto and that the red streets (36 meters) represent the newer and more suburban parts of the city.
It's also interesting to think about this map in the context of other cities. Manhattan, for example, has a famous grid plan that generally contains north-south avenues and east-west streets. Most, but not all, of the avenues are 100 feet wide, or ~30 meters. And most, but not all, of the streets are 60 feet wide, or ~18 meters.
I tried to get Gemini to create a New York version of the above map using the same color legend, but it hallucinated and didn't give me what I wanted. So you'll have to use your imagination. Manhattan's avenues typically correspond to the dark blue lines on Toronto's map, and its streets are even narrower than the orange lines.
If you were to overlay these two maps at the same scale, you'd see at least two things: one, Toronto doesn't have the same kind of broad avenues cutting through its most urban areas (meaning it's harder to move cars around) and, two, Manhattan has a much thicker web of urban streets. Consider the density that exists on Manhattan's 18-meter-wide streets.
Toronto did not lay out its urban grid ahead of time like New York did with its Commissioners' Plan in 1811. In many ways, Toronto feels more like an accidental global city. But that doesn't mean we can't look at our urban grid today and decide what it wants to be for the next 200 years. I think that would be a good idea.
Cover photo by Tianlei Wu on Unsplash
Before laneway homes were permitted as-of-right in Toronto, many people couldn't imagine them being a viable housing solution, let alone a desirable housing solution. I vividly remember some critics arguing that only people of questionable moral fiber would want to live in a laneway. Toronto's laneways were only suitable for garages, cars, graffiti, and degenerates, apparently.
If you're a longtime reader of this blog you'll know that I've always felt differently. In 2014, I wrote a post calling laneway homes the new loft. And in 2021, after Mackay Laneway House was finished, I wrote that "slowly but surely, we will start to think of our lanes not as back of house, but as front of house." I went on to surmise that, one day, our laneways could even become the more desirable side of a property.
I was reminded of this prognostication earlier this week when a friend of mine, who is very active in the multiplex space, was touring me through one of his construction sites. What struck me is that he said that on every single one of his projects, the highest-grossing suite is always the laneway or garden suite. It commands the highest rent and it's what gets the most showings.
This, of course, makes sense. It's a standalone structure, whereas the other homes in a multiplex building are not. And if you have the site area to do two storeys, these suites can become relatively large — oftentimes between 1,200 and 1,400 sf. Laneways are also intimate and largely pedestrian-oriented streets, so a nice place to live.
But there's some hindsight bias in this obviousness. It wasn't that long ago that most Torontonians couldn't imagine a "house fitting behind a house." It was an unthinkable solution that would ruin the character of our low-rise neighborhoods. Now we have planning policies that not only allow them, but that are, in a way, promoting an inversion in the way our low-rise neighborhoods function.
Toronto's policies allow up to six suites on the "front" of certain properties, plus a laneway or garden suite at the "back," for a total of 7 suites. The effect is that an entirely new single-family house layer is today getting built on our laneways. An alternative way to think about this is that it's like taking an existing single-family house, pushing it to the back, and then building a small "houseplex" in the front.
Ironically, all of these policies were born out of a deep desire to not change the character of existing neighborhoods. It's why no one would dare call these six-unit structures anything resembling an apartment. They are house-plexes, which are just like single-family houses, but with an added plex in the name. Nothing out of the ordinary to see here.
But our neighborhoods are changing and they will continue to change. The market is already speaking in terms of which new homes it finds most desirable. And in the end, that's a good thing. Change and evolution are features, not bugs, of cities. When Toronto stops growing and adapting, that's when we need to start worrying.
Back in 2014, I compared laneway housing to lofts because of the latter's origin story. When manufacturing began to leave cities and warehouses started to get converted to apartments, they were viewed as dangerous, illegal misuses of commercial spaces. It was housing that no respectable middle-class person would want to live in.
Then the opposite became true. Loft living became a symbol of urban cool, so much so that every new apartment somehow became a "loft." I'm not suggesting that Toronto's laneway suites are about to stage a global takeover in quite the same way, but some 11 years later, I do think it's following the same arc of desirability. The things we desire aren't as enshrined as they may seem.
Cover photo by Nikhil Mitra on Unsplash
In this part of the world, the people who take on the risk of building and who orchestrate the creation of new buildings are typically called real estate developers. That's what I call myself. But they can go by different names depending on where you are in the world and who you are asking.
For example, when a developer is raising money for a project, another term you will often hear is "sponsor." This emphasizes their role as the financial steward of the capital they are raising, as opposed to their operational expertise as a developer/builder. But in practice, they refer to the same thing. The audience has just changed.
In French, real estate developers are typically called something else: promoteurs immobiliers. This literally translates into "real estate promoter," and it speaks to one of the primary functions of developers, which is to initiate, sell, and generally push a project forward. So this is maybe a more accurate term.
The things being developed and promoted can also take on different names. I use the word "project" to describe a new building. Seth Godin has written a lot about this term, and he differentiates it from tasks: "Important work is project work." Meaning, it contributes to something bigger. So I like to use this term for almost everything I work on.
But in British English, it is common for property developers to use something else: "scheme." You'll hear things like, "our scheme contains 250 apartment homes with retail at grade." This word has always stood out to me as odd because I see it as having negative connotations. When someone is scheming, they're up to no good. Or maybe it's just because I'm not British.
Whatever your view, if we combine the French and the British terminology, we arrive at someone who promotes schemes for a living. Hmm. I'll likely stick to "developing projects," but I think the semantics are interesting. Like it or not, it says something about how development functions as an industry, and the skills necessary to participate in it.
Cover photo by aboodi vesakaran on Unsplash
