There is a growing trend in Toronto right now where people want to build on top of existing buildings. We are proposing to do this in midtown at 1 St. Clair Avenue West and, this week, this proposal was announced for the Cambridge Suites Hotel in the Financial District (shout out to Len Abelman).

Generally speaking, this is something that an owner and/or developer might want to do when you have an older building and there is now "unused" density on the site. By "unused" I mean that if you were developing the land for the first time today, the resulting density would be higher than what is currently on the site.

Alongside this, it can also be a way to reposition the existing asset. In the case of the Cambridge Suites site, it sounds like the existing 231 hotel keys will be converted to residential.

At some point in the process you will probably also look at whether it is "better" to tear down the existing building and build new, or whether you should try and build on top. The former is obviously very bad from an embodied carbon perspective but, for whatever reason, this may be the preferred option.

If you decide to build on top, your structural engineer will love you because the result -- for them -- will be a far more interesting project compared to a typical high-rise. But interesting comes with its challenges. Here's how your structural solution might work:

It’s a complicated project that will require a 10-metre-high bridge structure to be built atop the existing hotel where the roof is removed. The bridge will help bear the weight of the new tower, explains Len Abelman, principal at Toronto’s WZMH Architects, the firm designing the redevelopment for the property’s owner, Centennial Hotels Ltd.

“It’s not a common technique, it’s challenging. We worked with a firm called RJC Engineers to do simulations of the massing and loading of weight and the lateral forces the building will face, to make sure it will work,” Mr. Abelman says.

“Other projects in Toronto have added floors before, but it’s usually done with a big exoskeleton that goes over the entire building. This one uses technology that transfers some of the weight to the columns and the floors of the existing structure below,” he says.

This is similar to what we are doing in midtown, except that we are proposing to retain all of the the existing facades along with the building. It is certainly not the easiest way to build. But we are likely to see more, not less, of it in the city.

It is evidence of the immense development pressures that certain areas of our region are facing. When you restrict new supply, the market will find somewhere to build, even if it involves a lot of structural gymnastics.

Is this a true or false statement?

"It is through media, of course, that we primarily consume architecture.”

Witold Rybczynski recently spoke about this on his blog. Initially he thought it was a preposterous statement. But then he begrudgingly accepts that it is actually the case today. This in turn leads to an interesting distinction between what it means to experience architecture versus consume architecture.

The former takes more time. You have to do laborious things like actually be in the space, walk around it, and generally just experience what it's like to be there. Consuming, on the other hand, is much easier. Maybe it's as simple as an image in your social feed that you forward to a friend so that they can in turn respond with a single fire emoji. Cool. Consumption done.

Naturally this distinction translates into different ways of thinking about architecture. In the words of Witold, when you're a consumer of architecture, you want to be "amused, titillated, and entertained." You don't have time for subtleties -- things like tactile materials, historical references, light, and shadow. This is about consuming architecture.

Now, I'm not sure if Witold has given any thought to what web3 and a mixed-reality future will mean for architecture, but it's an obvious and interesting question. Intuitively, one would think that the more time we spend with digitally mediated experiences, the less time we will have to experience architecture the way nature intended it. Though maybe that's not the way to think about this.

I tend to be a bit more rosy about the current state of affairs and the future than Witold, but here are two points. One, consumption allows more people to interact with a piece of architecture. In fact, before writing this post I consumed Studio Gang's recently completed project in Hawaii. It was nice, and maybe one day I will also experience it. That, I agree, would be even nicer.

Two, architecture is always a product of the zeitgeist at the time. Part of its job is to reflect culture and, for better or for worse, speak to who we are as a society. And so if architecture has become effective at reflecting our current milieu, isn't it doing exactly what it is supposed to be doing?

You probably already know this about Hong Kong:

Neon signs exploded in popularity in Hong Kong after World War II, when the city’s economy started to take off led by its manufacturing industry. As consumerism grew, neon signboards became the go-to format of advertising for all kinds of businesses ranging from restaurants to mahjong parlors to pawn shops. In an era where shopping mostly took place on the street level, the biggest and brightest signs got the most attention.

But this component of Hong Kong's aesthetic is rapidly fading. As recent as 2016, it was estimated that there were some 120,000 outdoor signboards, including neon signs, in the city. Today, thousands of neon signs are being removed each year in an effort to "clean up" the city. The result is that about 90% of the city's neon has now been removed. (Here is an interesting visual essay from Google showing how the city has changed over the years.)

However, it is also partially a case obsolescence. Neon is a dying craft now that we have technologies like LED. And so as sad as it may be, it's hard to imagine a world where Hong Kong ever returns to its former glory as a capital of neon.

Neon signs exploded in the post-war years, but most of them were illegal and I guess some were dangerous by virtue of there being no real enforced standards. But the British clearly didn't care. Signs were good for business and good for capitalism. And so they let them proliferate. But then the handover to China happened, and it would seem that the Chinese care a little more about neon signs.

But I think my favorite part of this story is that the origin of these signs is, of course, informal and utilitarian in nature. It was a case of one person erecting a sign and then a neighbor saying, "hey, your big neon sign is blocking my big neon sign, so I'm now going to make an even bigger and bolder neon sign. Maybe I'll even hang it in the middle of the street." The result was a self-organizing system that ended up creating, through no overarching plan whatsoever, a unique visual language for Hong Kong.

That system is now being systematically erased. But lots of people are working to preserve its various artifacts and to celebrate its cultural legacy. These are all good things. But of course, there are other options. At the end of the day, Hong Kong's visual language is not disappearing because neon is disappearing. It's disappearing because we've decided that is what should happen.