Now that the results from Paris' first round of municipal elections are in, I thought I would do a follow-up to my post from a few days ago (which was mostly about bicycles). The second and final round happens this weekend, but here's what we've learned so far:
Emmanuel Grégoire (Union of the Left) is in the lead with 37.98% of the vote:
And Rachida Dati (Union of the Right) is in second with 25.46% of the vote:
What is not unexpected, but super interesting nonetheless, is the clear divide between the west and east within Paris proper. The west voted right, and the east voted left.
Here in Toronto, our voting maps typically exhibit a semi-clear divide between "Old Toronto" and the inner suburbs. For example, these are the results from our 2023 mayoral by-election:
Conveniently, it is a divide that loosely tracks the city's built form. If you live in the oldest parts of the city, where transit usage is higher and there's rail in the middle of the street, there's a higher probability that you voted for Chow. The inner suburbs, on the other hand, tended to vote for Bailão.
In the case of Paris, there isn't the same built form contrast. This is not an urban-suburban divide; it's a socio-economic divide. The western arrondissements have historically been the wealthiest areas of Paris (for a variety of reasons), and that continually appears in the voting patterns.
It also shows up in the modal splits. The western arrondissements tend to have higher car ownership rates compared to the east. These basic facts are interesting because Paris represents more of a controlled urban experiment, in contrast to Toronto's dense downtown and otherwise generally low-rise built form.
But in the end, I'm not sure the political mappings of Paris and Toronto are all that different. If you look closely at Toronto's 2023 by-election map, you'll see that the wealthiest pockets of the city voted exactly as you would expect. Turns out, bank balances may matter more than built form.
Cover photo by Maximilian Zahn on Unsplash
Vietnam has a building typology known as tube housing.
It is characterized by narrow building frontages, often in the range of 3 to 4 meters, and multiple skinny levels. From what I've read, tube housing first appeared in the 17th century in cities like Hanoi. Its ubiquity over the years, however, has been aided by a myriad of factors, including Vietnam's transition from capitalism to socialism. This change meant that far fewer apartment buildings were being constructed, and so households had to take matters into their own hands and build what they could.
I've also read that this building type may have something to do with the way properties were taxed based on their frontage rather than their site area, though I haven’t been able to find a reliable source for this. Whatever the case, the end result is exactly what we discussed in this recent post — The 9-Step Rule: Why Simple, Narrow Buildings Are Good for Cities. Except with these frontages, it wouldn’t even take nine steps if the average building width is closer to 3–4 meters.
What is equally interesting about this housing type is that it represents a ground-up intervention (as opposed to the result of top-down urban design) and it is highly adaptable. It is not uncommon for additional floors to be added to these tube houses as needs change, and for the ground floors to serve as garages, living rooms, thriving commercial spaces, or as all three at once. It is an entirely flexible space that fuels entrepreneurship and allows households to make money.
Just think about how much easier it would be to open your own shop if you already owned the space. Conversely, how many of these ground-floor businesses wouldn’t exist if only there were a single line in the zoning regulations that said: “Nah, sorry, you can’t start and operate your own business here.” That is what I often worry about when it comes to land-use policy: what human potential are we quashing as a result of our decisions?
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