Brandon Donnelly
Daily insights for city builders. Published since 2013 by Toronto-based real estate developer Brandon Donnelly.
Brandon Donnelly
Daily insights for city builders. Published since 2013 by Toronto-based real estate developer Brandon Donnelly.
My palms are sweating as I write this post, because even the thought of someone free soloing a skyscraper makes me clammy. (Free solo means climbing with no ropes.) But that's what climber Alex Honnold is scheduled to do live, on Netflix, on January 23, 2026, at 8 PM ET.
He will be climbing Taipei 101, which is over 500 meters tall, one of the tallest buildings in the world, and formerly the world's tallest. Dubai's Burj Khalifa stole this superlative in 2009 when it was completed.
My palms continue to sweat, but Alex is of the opinion that, as far as enormous towers go, this one is relatively safe for free soloing:
Honnold said the shape of the building makes it safer to climb because there are balconies every eight floors. “You could actually fall in tons of places and not actually die, which makes it safer than a lot of rock climbing objectives,” he said.
I can see the logic.
The architecture of Taipei 101 consists of inverted trapezoids that are stacked on top of each other. Each is 8 storeys tall and they angle outward as you move up, creating a roof condition or terrace on top of each module.
Eight is an important number in Chinese culture because of a homophone in Mandarin; the number sounds like "to prosper" or "to make a fortune." So that's why the modules are the height that they are.
It is now also dawning on me that the nested modules of One Delisle are 8 storeys tall. That's good! This was never talked about during the design phase, but now that I'm aware of it, I'm going to pretend it was deliberate.
I guess this also means that One Delisle would be a relatively safe building to free solo climb. Please, nobody try this.
Good luck, Alex.
I recently tweeted a photo of 701 Côte de la Place-d'Armes in Montréal and asked: Who says buildings need stepbacks?
I'm writing this post from the concourse level of Place Ville Marie Esplanade in Montréal (also known as Galerie PVM) while I wait for my next meeting. Like the PATH in Toronto, the space I'm in is part of an underground network of restaurants, shops, and circulation spaces that runs through downtown Montréal.
But what makes the space I'm in right now particularly noteworthy is that I'm sitting beneath an enormous glass roof supported by 18 glass beams measuring 15 meters long and 0.9 meters tall. So, while I am below grade, I have a clear view of The Ring, Mont-Royal, and the street life happening above me.
My palms are sweating as I write this post, because even the thought of someone free soloing a skyscraper makes me clammy. (Free solo means climbing with no ropes.) But that's what climber Alex Honnold is scheduled to do live, on Netflix, on January 23, 2026, at 8 PM ET.
He will be climbing Taipei 101, which is over 500 meters tall, one of the tallest buildings in the world, and formerly the world's tallest. Dubai's Burj Khalifa stole this superlative in 2009 when it was completed.
My palms continue to sweat, but Alex is of the opinion that, as far as enormous towers go, this one is relatively safe for free soloing:
Honnold said the shape of the building makes it safer to climb because there are balconies every eight floors. “You could actually fall in tons of places and not actually die, which makes it safer than a lot of rock climbing objectives,” he said.
I can see the logic.
The architecture of Taipei 101 consists of inverted trapezoids that are stacked on top of each other. Each is 8 storeys tall and they angle outward as you move up, creating a roof condition or terrace on top of each module.
Eight is an important number in Chinese culture because of a homophone in Mandarin; the number sounds like "to prosper" or "to make a fortune." So that's why the modules are the height that they are.
It is now also dawning on me that the nested modules of One Delisle are 8 storeys tall. That's good! This was never talked about during the design phase, but now that I'm aware of it, I'm going to pretend it was deliberate.
I guess this also means that One Delisle would be a relatively safe building to free solo climb. Please, nobody try this.
Good luck, Alex.
I recently tweeted a photo of 701 Côte de la Place-d'Armes in Montréal and asked: Who says buildings need stepbacks?
I'm writing this post from the concourse level of Place Ville Marie Esplanade in Montréal (also known as Galerie PVM) while I wait for my next meeting. Like the PATH in Toronto, the space I'm in is part of an underground network of restaurants, shops, and circulation spaces that runs through downtown Montréal.
But what makes the space I'm in right now particularly noteworthy is that I'm sitting beneath an enormous glass roof supported by 18 glass beams measuring 15 meters long and 0.9 meters tall. So, while I am below grade, I have a clear view of The Ring, Mont-Royal, and the street life happening above me.
In fact, I specifically chose to share this building because it's exactly the kind of architecture and urban design that conveys the feeling of grandeur I get when I'm in Montréal. I also chose it because it's taller than six storeys, which is the height that Toronto is hoping to one day deliver along its major streets at scale.
But here's a question: If this stepback-less building is so great, why are stepbacks so in-demand?
Firstly, I should point out that when the building was completed in 1870, it only had five floors. The top floor was an attic storey and had a mansard roof reminiscent of Haussmannian Second Empire architecture.
Then in 1909, the attic floor was removed, and three new floors were added (a net increase of two floors). If you look closely above the fourth floor, you'll see a slightly different architectural expression, but one that remains harmonious with the original design of the building.
This approach breaks many of the rules for how modern planning thinks about heritage buildings. Today, it is likely that someone would have asked for a stepback above the existing building, with a completely new expression above it. Admittedly, this can produce desirable results. But it's not what was decided in 1909, and the result is a very handsome building.
This gets us back to our original question: Why do we insist on stepbacks, but still like architecture like this one so much? I think there are at least two answers at play here.
The first has to do with architecture and design. If you were to pluck random people off the street and ask them about their architectural tastes, I would bet you that more people would prefer something Neoclassical or Beaux-Arts over something modern. And if people actually like the architecture, then I think they become more comfortable with scale, or perceived scale.
The second answer has to do with the fact that one way to look at stepbacks is as a defensive architectural tool. They have become a tool we use when someone doesn't actually want a building to be built. We use them to try and soften the massing by hiding as much of it as possible.
The problem with this approach is that it also means we're not playing offence. And if you want urban grandeur, I think you need to play offence. You need to be confident and decisive about what you're trying to do. And I think this is part of the reason why so many people seem to like 701 Côte de la Place-d'Armes. It is all of these things, and it's not in their backyard.
Cover photo by Macy Nguyen on Unsplash; historic photo from Hôtel Place d'Armes
Underground "malls" like Toronto's PATH and Montréal's RÉSO were a somewhat obvious urban solution to inclement weather. But they are often criticized for sucking life underground and making the streets at grade feel dead.
When I've toured my American friends through Toronto's CBD in the past, I've heard comments like, "How come you have no retail downtown? It feels dead." And then I have to cheekily say, "Oh, well, we actually have tons of it, we just decided to hide it all underground so it's harder to find and confusing to navigate."
The way you start to counteract these negatives — lack of street life and challenging wayfinding — is to do what Sid Lee Architecture did masterfully here at Place Ville Marie. To the extent possible, you make grade and below grade feel like one space.
In fact, I specifically chose to share this building because it's exactly the kind of architecture and urban design that conveys the feeling of grandeur I get when I'm in Montréal. I also chose it because it's taller than six storeys, which is the height that Toronto is hoping to one day deliver along its major streets at scale.
But here's a question: If this stepback-less building is so great, why are stepbacks so in-demand?
Firstly, I should point out that when the building was completed in 1870, it only had five floors. The top floor was an attic storey and had a mansard roof reminiscent of Haussmannian Second Empire architecture.
Then in 1909, the attic floor was removed, and three new floors were added (a net increase of two floors). If you look closely above the fourth floor, you'll see a slightly different architectural expression, but one that remains harmonious with the original design of the building.
This approach breaks many of the rules for how modern planning thinks about heritage buildings. Today, it is likely that someone would have asked for a stepback above the existing building, with a completely new expression above it. Admittedly, this can produce desirable results. But it's not what was decided in 1909, and the result is a very handsome building.
This gets us back to our original question: Why do we insist on stepbacks, but still like architecture like this one so much? I think there are at least two answers at play here.
The first has to do with architecture and design. If you were to pluck random people off the street and ask them about their architectural tastes, I would bet you that more people would prefer something Neoclassical or Beaux-Arts over something modern. And if people actually like the architecture, then I think they become more comfortable with scale, or perceived scale.
The second answer has to do with the fact that one way to look at stepbacks is as a defensive architectural tool. They have become a tool we use when someone doesn't actually want a building to be built. We use them to try and soften the massing by hiding as much of it as possible.
The problem with this approach is that it also means we're not playing offence. And if you want urban grandeur, I think you need to play offence. You need to be confident and decisive about what you're trying to do. And I think this is part of the reason why so many people seem to like 701 Côte de la Place-d'Armes. It is all of these things, and it's not in their backyard.
Cover photo by Macy Nguyen on Unsplash; historic photo from Hôtel Place d'Armes
Underground "malls" like Toronto's PATH and Montréal's RÉSO were a somewhat obvious urban solution to inclement weather. But they are often criticized for sucking life underground and making the streets at grade feel dead.
When I've toured my American friends through Toronto's CBD in the past, I've heard comments like, "How come you have no retail downtown? It feels dead." And then I have to cheekily say, "Oh, well, we actually have tons of it, we just decided to hide it all underground so it's harder to find and confusing to navigate."
The way you start to counteract these negatives — lack of street life and challenging wayfinding — is to do what Sid Lee Architecture did masterfully here at Place Ville Marie. To the extent possible, you make grade and below grade feel like one space.
Share Dialog
Share Dialog
Share Dialog
Share Dialog
Share Dialog
Share Dialog
