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In the second half of the 19th century, the way Londoners had historically lived, started to change:
In the 1870s, a striking change was occurring in the residential habits of London’s elite. After centuries of living close to the ground in houses, Charles Dickens Jr. (son of the famous writer) observed that wealthy residents were starting “to avail themselves of the continental experience … and to adopt the foreign fashion of living in flats.”
The resulting housing typology was something known as the mansion block. And as the name suggests, one of the principal design ideas was that these blocks should, ideally, look like a single giant mansion. In other words, the individual homes were to be obfuscated:
The mansion block was a grand building that borrowed elements of the English terraced house (as a row house is known in British English), particularly the elite “palace fronted” terraced houses designed by Scottish architect Robert Adam and his brothers a century earlier, which concealed individual houses behind a grand facade to resemble a single palatial structure.
It is a design approach that makes sense. I mean, I can see wealthy people wanting to appear as if they're living in a palatial mansion. That said, it is an approach to multi-family housing that feels somewhat foreign today. Most people don't look up at tall buildings and wonder if it's one person's home.
And we don't aim for that.
Presumably this is, at least partially, because scales grew, builders were looking for economies of scale, and because modernism told us that mansion-looking structures were outdated. Whatever the reasons, multi-family buildings today are not generally conceived of as sub-divided mansions.
What's maybe ironic about this shift, though, is that we went from elaborate and varied facade designs intended to communicate single structures, to modern and repetitive facade designs that, somehow, better communicate the individual homes.
I suppose we got used to the "foreign fashion of living in flats".
Image: Josh Kramer for Bloomberg CityLab
When you look at some of the most iconic home designs from around the world -- which Bloomberg CityLab has been doing -- there are some trends that emerge. One of them has to do with desirability. Whether we're talking about Stockholm or Montreal, a lot of the housing that is today cherished, started out as fairly utilitarian. There was a need for housing and so governments and developers stepped up to build, often as cost effectively as possible. The result was housing that a lot of people seemed to dislike. At least initially.
Here are a few excerpts from a recent post by CityLab talking about Montreal's famous walk-up apartments:
Their shape was dictated by the dimensions of the lots sold by developers: Narrow at the front, they run as deep as 120 feet and open onto an alley, leaving enough space for backyards and sheds behind. Inside, the units are not particularly big, with duplex apartments, often rectangular in shape, typically from 750 square feet to 1,000 square feet. Triplex apartments are a little larger and sometimes configured in an L-shape, a trick that builders used to make the most of the lot’s depth while getting some side light. Rooms unfold on one or either side of a corridor, with the kitchen at the back.
Despite their reputation for charm today, the plexes were long criticized for their overcrowding and lack of light. Working-class homes were sometimes known as “the poor man’s coffin,” says Noppen.
“These are very narrow, dark, long buildings, which above all, were overcrowded,” he says. Today the apartments may be sought after, as “part of a considerable gentrification movement, but that’s because, two, three people live inside — that used to be 15.”
I think most people forget that the housing we love today was probably built by a developer and almost certainly done in the pursuit of profit. Which begs the question: What has to happen before people suddenly start appreciating? Eliminating overcrowding certainly helps. But is it also a question of time? Do we just need time for the housing to settle in and get absorbed into the market? Or do we simply tend to dislike that which is new and so we need something even newer to hate before we can appreciate the now old?
In the second half of the 19th century, the way Londoners had historically lived, started to change:
In the 1870s, a striking change was occurring in the residential habits of London’s elite. After centuries of living close to the ground in houses, Charles Dickens Jr. (son of the famous writer) observed that wealthy residents were starting “to avail themselves of the continental experience … and to adopt the foreign fashion of living in flats.”
The resulting housing typology was something known as the mansion block. And as the name suggests, one of the principal design ideas was that these blocks should, ideally, look like a single giant mansion. In other words, the individual homes were to be obfuscated:
The mansion block was a grand building that borrowed elements of the English terraced house (as a row house is known in British English), particularly the elite “palace fronted” terraced houses designed by Scottish architect Robert Adam and his brothers a century earlier, which concealed individual houses behind a grand facade to resemble a single palatial structure.
It is a design approach that makes sense. I mean, I can see wealthy people wanting to appear as if they're living in a palatial mansion. That said, it is an approach to multi-family housing that feels somewhat foreign today. Most people don't look up at tall buildings and wonder if it's one person's home.
And we don't aim for that.
Presumably this is, at least partially, because scales grew, builders were looking for economies of scale, and because modernism told us that mansion-looking structures were outdated. Whatever the reasons, multi-family buildings today are not generally conceived of as sub-divided mansions.
What's maybe ironic about this shift, though, is that we went from elaborate and varied facade designs intended to communicate single structures, to modern and repetitive facade designs that, somehow, better communicate the individual homes.
I suppose we got used to the "foreign fashion of living in flats".
Image: Josh Kramer for Bloomberg CityLab
When you look at some of the most iconic home designs from around the world -- which Bloomberg CityLab has been doing -- there are some trends that emerge. One of them has to do with desirability. Whether we're talking about Stockholm or Montreal, a lot of the housing that is today cherished, started out as fairly utilitarian. There was a need for housing and so governments and developers stepped up to build, often as cost effectively as possible. The result was housing that a lot of people seemed to dislike. At least initially.
Here are a few excerpts from a recent post by CityLab talking about Montreal's famous walk-up apartments:
Their shape was dictated by the dimensions of the lots sold by developers: Narrow at the front, they run as deep as 120 feet and open onto an alley, leaving enough space for backyards and sheds behind. Inside, the units are not particularly big, with duplex apartments, often rectangular in shape, typically from 750 square feet to 1,000 square feet. Triplex apartments are a little larger and sometimes configured in an L-shape, a trick that builders used to make the most of the lot’s depth while getting some side light. Rooms unfold on one or either side of a corridor, with the kitchen at the back.
Despite their reputation for charm today, the plexes were long criticized for their overcrowding and lack of light. Working-class homes were sometimes known as “the poor man’s coffin,” says Noppen.
“These are very narrow, dark, long buildings, which above all, were overcrowded,” he says. Today the apartments may be sought after, as “part of a considerable gentrification movement, but that’s because, two, three people live inside — that used to be 15.”
I think most people forget that the housing we love today was probably built by a developer and almost certainly done in the pursuit of profit. Which begs the question: What has to happen before people suddenly start appreciating? Eliminating overcrowding certainly helps. But is it also a question of time? Do we just need time for the housing to settle in and get absorbed into the market? Or do we simply tend to dislike that which is new and so we need something even newer to hate before we can appreciate the now old?
Feargus O'Sullivan is back with another Bloomberg CityLab article about "the iconic home designs that define our global cities." In this recent article he focuses on the Barnrikehus of Stockholm (and also talks about Sweden's housing market in general). Originally built in the 1930s, the slab-like midrise buildings were largely intended to address two pressing problems: 1) the need for affordable housing and 2) Sweden's incredibly low birthrate (supposedly the lowest in Europe at the time).
The Barnrikehus template was deployed on the edges of Stockholm and other Swedish cities. The designs were/are fairly simple. Very little ornament (this is Scandinavia). Four or five storeys usually. And no more than about 12 meters deep. This allowed for better natural ventilation, which was important for stymying the spread of tuberculosis. The rents were also heavily subsidized and declined even further with every child in the family. In other words: the more kids you had, the less rent you had to pay.
The suites were fairly compact, with many around the 430 square foot mark. This kind of space might have housed a family of six according to O'Sullivan. But compared to the other available housing options at the time, this was a significant improvement. Perhaps not surprisingly, these "child-rich houses" (which is how the name translates) developed the same kind of social housing stigma that was prevalent in many other countries and cities around the world.
But that perception changed over time and, today, these rent-controlled apartments are apparently highly sought after. (Here's a listing to give you a taste of what they're like.) Originally on the fringe of cities like Stockholm, they are now very well located and offer a high standard of living. (You also can't go wrong with white walls and pale woods.) To learn more about the evolution of Stockholm's depression-era housing, click here.
Photo by Jon Flobrant on Unsplash
Feargus O'Sullivan is back with another Bloomberg CityLab article about "the iconic home designs that define our global cities." In this recent article he focuses on the Barnrikehus of Stockholm (and also talks about Sweden's housing market in general). Originally built in the 1930s, the slab-like midrise buildings were largely intended to address two pressing problems: 1) the need for affordable housing and 2) Sweden's incredibly low birthrate (supposedly the lowest in Europe at the time).
The Barnrikehus template was deployed on the edges of Stockholm and other Swedish cities. The designs were/are fairly simple. Very little ornament (this is Scandinavia). Four or five storeys usually. And no more than about 12 meters deep. This allowed for better natural ventilation, which was important for stymying the spread of tuberculosis. The rents were also heavily subsidized and declined even further with every child in the family. In other words: the more kids you had, the less rent you had to pay.
The suites were fairly compact, with many around the 430 square foot mark. This kind of space might have housed a family of six according to O'Sullivan. But compared to the other available housing options at the time, this was a significant improvement. Perhaps not surprisingly, these "child-rich houses" (which is how the name translates) developed the same kind of social housing stigma that was prevalent in many other countries and cities around the world.
But that perception changed over time and, today, these rent-controlled apartments are apparently highly sought after. (Here's a listing to give you a taste of what they're like.) Originally on the fringe of cities like Stockholm, they are now very well located and offer a high standard of living. (You also can't go wrong with white walls and pale woods.) To learn more about the evolution of Stockholm's depression-era housing, click here.
Photo by Jon Flobrant on Unsplash
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