In Chinese culture, certain numbers — like 4 — are generally considered unlucky because of how they sound. I don't speak Mandarin or Cantonese, but as I understand it, 4 sounds similar to "death." And this is even more the case in Cantonese.

Four sounds exactly like death, fourteen sounds like "definitely die," and forty-four is the equivalent of "die, certainly die." (Please correct me if I'm wrong.) It is for this reason that in certain real estate markets, and in particular Cantonese-speaking markets like Hong Kong, 4-related numbers are often avoided whenever possible.

This can also be the case in other markets. Before we launched sales for One Delisle, the team made the decision to be mindful of this superstition and skip floors 4, 14, and 44. The result is that the homes on floor 4 became suite 501, 502, 503, and so on, and the building itself went from having 44 floors to 47 floors.

We did this so that nobody would be buying on the "die, certainly die" floor, and so from a marketing perspective, I think these strategies can make a lot of sense.

But what I would also say is that, from a development perspective, you should avoid this whenever possible. It adds coordination complexity. What we saw happening early on was that someone would say suite 501, and then you'd have someone else question whether they were talking about the suite on architectural/construction/legal level 5 or the suite on marketing level 5.

To solve this, we had to be extremely draconian about how levels and suite numbers were allowed to be communicated. Firstly, there's no such thing as a "legal" suite number. Suite numbers are purely a marketing thing — a number that goes on a front door. The legal description of a condominium suite involves a legal level and a legal unit.

So what we did was call a meeting and tell everyone the following: Any and all communication regarding suites needs to include the legal level, legal unit, and suite number, and failure to use all three numbers means you will be liable for any mistakes. We then updated the drawings to reflect this nomenclature.

Building buildings requires some assholes.

My first boss used to tell me that development is the closest thing to being in the military. Never having been in the military, I can't say whether this is accurate or not, but it should give you an indication of what it can feel like to build. Sometimes skipping floors is just what you need to do. But if you can avoid it, it's one less thing you need to be an ass about.

Maria Godoy of NPR recently published an interesting piece called Lo Mein Loophole: How U.S. Immigration Law Fueled A Chinese Restaurant Boom.

The article starts by talking about how rising anti-Chinese sentiment in the late 19th and early 20th century eventually lead to the U.S. passing new immigration laws. These laws explicitly restricted Chinese laborers from moving to the U.S. and even made it difficult for legal residents to return after a visit home to China.

However, embedded in these laws was a small loophole:

But, as MIT legal historian Heather Lee tells it, there was an important exception to these laws: Some Chinese business owners in the U.S. could get special merchant visas that allowed them to travel to China, and bring back employees. Only a few types of businesses qualified for this status. In 1915, a federal court added restaurants to that list. Voila! A restaurant boom was born.