I tweeted this yesterday (please forgive the grammar mistake).

What it shows is a bunch of narrow urban properties ranging, for the most part, from 5 to 7 storeys. Some of them are old buildings, and some are new. Regardless, the point I wanted to make was that this is a scale and rhythm of building that does wonders for cities. They’re dense, they have a compact footprint, and they promote urban vibrancy.

And yet, it's a building type that is far too difficult to develop in many cities. It is not always the case, but oftentimes the only way to underwrite these kinds of projects is to make them ultra high-end. That's a shame. So let’s talk about this a little more, starting with what makes this urban pattern so appealing.

One key thing that narrow lots and narrow retail frontages do is increase the number of destinations within walking distance. This promotes visual interest by always showing you something new.

At the same time, there are numerous economic benefits to this urban pattern. Smaller shops lower the barrier to entry for small businesses and allow greater adaptability. Change is able to happen faster, and if one or two businesses happen to turnover on a street, it’s not the end of the world.

One way I like to think of this is in terms of shops per step.

For example, let's assume that the average walking speed is 4 km/hour and that, as a starting point, fine-grained urbanism translates into storefronts that are around 6 m wide. This would mean the average person walking on a street would see a new shop (or retail frontage) about every 9 steps.

If we instead assume a retail frontage of something like 30 m (which is five times our original 6 m), then the average person would need approximately 43 steps for every shop. This is a meaningful difference that fundamentally changes the character of a street. If you’ve ever walked on a great main street, you know this, even if you’ve never explicitly acknowledged it.

But this is only the ground floor. The other benefit of these simple, straight-up infills is that they also bring homes and offices to the same compact footprint. Density is good. It is a prerequisite for urban vibrancy. And it can be achieved simply. Strip away the facade ornament from the building examples in my tweet, and these are extruded boxes with no stepbacks to speak of.

This used to be how many (or most) cities built fabric buildings at scale, but for many reasons, we forgot how. One of the reasons is that we’ve generally made building things more onerous, and that means developers need bigger and bigger projects to justify the costs.

But it's clear our desire to experience human-scaled environments hasn’t changed. So I reckon it’s about time to bring back the skinny extruded boxes.

Cover photo by Praewthida K on Unsplash

As you know, Northern Virginia is now referred to as "data center alley." It has, by far, the largest agglomeration of data centers in the world. The latest figures are somewhere around 200 completed facilities and some 49 million square feet, with a lot more in the pipeline.

Here's the global top 10 list via Bloomberg:

And here's a map of existing (blue) and proposed (purple) data centers via Loudoun County, Virginia:

This has been an economic boon for Virginia. It's estimated that the data center industry contributes up to 74,000 jobs and $9.1 billion in GDP to the state each year. But along with these benefits come some trade-offs, one of which has to do with the region's built environment.

Here are two zoom-ins of an area to the west of Dulles International Airport:

These maps raise a question that is only going to become more important as time goes on: What's the best way to insert large insular boxes into the fabric of a city or suburb? Of course, in some ways, this is not a new phenomenon. The suburbs are no stranger to this kind of built form.

But it's unique in that these boxes are not meant to be experienced in real life. They're a physical manifestation of our online activities, juxtaposed against our offline lives. It's two different worlds colliding. And already, it may be more appropriate to ask our question in the opposite direction: What's the best way to plan a city or suburb around data centers?

I tweeted this yesterday (please forgive the grammar mistake).

What it shows is a bunch of narrow urban properties ranging, for the most part, from 5 to 7 storeys. Some of them are old buildings, and some are new. Regardless, the point I wanted to make was that this is a scale and rhythm of building that does wonders for cities. They’re dense, they have a compact footprint, and they promote urban vibrancy.

And yet, it's a building type that is far too difficult to develop in many cities. It is not always the case, but oftentimes the only way to underwrite these kinds of projects is to make them ultra high-end. That's a shame. So let’s talk about this a little more, starting with what makes this urban pattern so appealing.

One key thing that narrow lots and narrow retail frontages do is increase the number of destinations within walking distance. This promotes visual interest by always showing you something new.

At the same time, there are numerous economic benefits to this urban pattern. Smaller shops lower the barrier to entry for small businesses and allow greater adaptability. Change is able to happen faster, and if one or two businesses happen to turnover on a street, it’s not the end of the world.

One way I like to think of this is in terms of shops per step.

For example, let's assume that the average walking speed is 4 km/hour and that, as a starting point, fine-grained urbanism translates into storefronts that are around 6 m wide. This would mean the average person walking on a street would see a new shop (or retail frontage) about every 9 steps.

If we instead assume a retail frontage of something like 30 m (which is five times our original 6 m), then the average person would need approximately 43 steps for every shop. This is a meaningful difference that fundamentally changes the character of a street. If you’ve ever walked on a great main street, you know this, even if you’ve never explicitly acknowledged it.

But this is only the ground floor. The other benefit of these simple, straight-up infills is that they also bring homes and offices to the same compact footprint. Density is good. It is a prerequisite for urban vibrancy. And it can be achieved simply. Strip away the facade ornament from the building examples in my tweet, and these are extruded boxes with no stepbacks to speak of.

This used to be how many (or most) cities built fabric buildings at scale, but for many reasons, we forgot how. One of the reasons is that we’ve generally made building things more onerous, and that means developers need bigger and bigger projects to justify the costs.

But it's clear our desire to experience human-scaled environments hasn’t changed. So I reckon it’s about time to bring back the skinny extruded boxes.

Cover photo by Praewthida K on Unsplash

As you know, Northern Virginia is now referred to as "data center alley." It has, by far, the largest agglomeration of data centers in the world. The latest figures are somewhere around 200 completed facilities and some 49 million square feet, with a lot more in the pipeline.

Here's the global top 10 list via Bloomberg:

And here's a map of existing (blue) and proposed (purple) data centers via Loudoun County, Virginia:

This has been an economic boon for Virginia. It's estimated that the data center industry contributes up to 74,000 jobs and $9.1 billion in GDP to the state each year. But along with these benefits come some trade-offs, one of which has to do with the region's built environment.

Here are two zoom-ins of an area to the west of Dulles International Airport:

These maps raise a question that is only going to become more important as time goes on: What's the best way to insert large insular boxes into the fabric of a city or suburb? Of course, in some ways, this is not a new phenomenon. The suburbs are no stranger to this kind of built form.

But it's unique in that these boxes are not meant to be experienced in real life. They're a physical manifestation of our online activities, juxtaposed against our offline lives. It's two different worlds colliding. And already, it may be more appropriate to ask our question in the opposite direction: What's the best way to plan a city or suburb around data centers?