In today's episode of "this social housing project in Paris looks better than most market-rate housing elsewhere," we're looking at a recently completed boarding house in the 17e by CQFD Architecture.

The project has 6 storeys, a total area of 690 m2, 19 units, and a hard cost budget that was approximately €2.6 million (excluding tax). At this number, their hard costs work out to ~€3,768 per m2, ~€350 per ft2, or ~C$563 per ft2. So this was not a cheap build. Here's what it looks like:

When I first saw the project, I thought the total area would be larger than it is. At 690 m2, it's basically the size of a multiplex project here in Toronto. Except here in Paris, they've gone vertical and they've managed to fit 19 studio apartments, plus amenity space.

All of this is possible when you consider the efficiency of each floor plate. The typical floor includes 4 apartments, one stair, one elevator, and a short corridor. Add in a second exit stair and all of this blows up.

Also interesting is the efficiency of the ground floor. There's an entrance hall, management office, bike room, recreation room, outdoor garden, and a teeny tiny garbage room ("local O.M." on the plan). As I understand it, this is all that's required for refuse because of how frequently it's picked up.

If this were in Toronto, we'd probably need a dozen bins, meaning that the bike room and/or recreation room would need to shrink down.

I love dissecting plans and dimensions from different cities because it shows you the invisible hand of building codes, planning policies, and cultural norms. We get accustomed to certain conventions and then we assume that it's simply the way that things must be done.

But the rules we have are simply the rules that somebody decided to create. As Steve Jobs once said, "Everything around you that you call life was made up by people that were no smarter than you." This implies that everything can be questioned and ultimately changed when there's a better solution.

Photos from CQFD Architecture

Floor plans from Metalocus

Movable chairs have been a feature of Parisian parks since the 18th century. Chairs are more comfortable than benches, and movable ones allow you to direct yourself toward the sun, cluster in groups, or just situate yourself so that you can prop your legs up and read a book.

Now, here's a brief story of how this came to be.

At the outset of this innovation, park chairs weren't free. If you wanted a bench upgrade, you had to pay. Private concessionaires would rent them out to visitors (like umbrellas at a beach), maintain them, and presumably ensure that things were kept generally tidy around the grounds.

Then, around 1923, the iconic green Sénat chair was designed by the Ateliers de la Ville de Paris. If you've ever been to Paris, you know this chair (see cover photo). It comes in only three models: chair, armchair, and recliner, all of which are green. RAL 6013 green, to be exact.

Eventually, the Sénat chair was imposed as the Parisian park chair. By 1955, it was the only possible option that could be rented out by concessionaires in places like the Jardin du Luxembourg. This set the stage for it to become one of the most recognizable symbols of the city.

But due to the popularity of these chairs and the fact that people would rather not have to pay to sit in a park, it was decided in 1974 that the chairs should be free, and they were bought from the concessionaires.

In 2002, Frédéric Sofia designed an offshoot of the chair called the "Luxembourg." The Luxembourg is made of aluminum, as opposed to steel, and is therefore lighter. It's also available for sale to the general public, whereas the Sénat chair is exclusively for city parks.

The result of this centuries-long tradition is an iconic symbol for the city and an established culture of employing movable chairs in public spaces. A humble movable chair may not seem like a big deal, but in the world of public spaces, it is.

Try to incorporate movable chairs into a park or public space today and, invariably, someone will tell you that it can't or shouldn't be done. They will say the chairs will be stolen, vandalized, and/or weaponized by hooligans. Perhaps not.

Today, there are some 4,500 movable chairs in the Jardin du Luxembourg alone. Paris shows us that it can be done.

Cover photo by Brigi Harkányi on Unsplash

I was on a panel this week, put on by BILD, called "Design That Sells." The focus of the panel was on how innovative product design can help sell homes in the current market environment. When I was first asked to be on the panel, I thought to myself, "I'm not sure I'm qualified to talk about this right now. Market conditions, rather than design, are the challenge!"

Of course, focusing on your customers' needs, solving their problems, and innovating with great design is always going to be the way. I think we've consistently tried to do this with our projects, and so that's what I talked about.

But what the discussion also got me thinking about — though I didn't mention this during the panel — is the late Clayton Christensen's theory called "Jobs to Be Done." I've written about this before on the blog, specifically about his milkshake case study.

The key idea behind the theory is that customers "hire" products and services in order to complete specific "jobs" for them. The problem is, businesses sometimes don't actually know the job that people are hiring for! In the case of the milkshake case study, this ended up being the job:

"Most of them, it turned out, bought [the milkshake] to do a similar job," he writes. "They faced a long, boring commute and needed something to keep that extra hand busy and to make the commute more interesting. They weren't yet hungry, but knew that they'd be hungry by 10 a.m.; they wanted to consume something now that would stave off hunger until noon. And they faced constraints: They were in a hurry, they were wearing work clothes, and they had (at most) one free hand."

This is why people were buying milkshakes in the morning, and why their efforts to sell more later in the day were not working. Now, let's talk about a case study that is closer to home. If you visit the Christensen Institute's site, you'll find a case study of his theory from the condominium industry.

The objective was for a Detroit-area developer to sell more homes targeted toward retirees and divorcees. They priced accordingly, had all the luxury finishes, and spent on elaborate marketing, and yet their inventory wasn't moving. Was it a design problem? A pricing issue?

Nope:

So, Moesta took a Jobs to Be Done approach: He set out to learn from the people who had bought units what job they were hiring the condominiums to do, and the conversations revealed an unusual clue: the dining room table. Prospective customers repeatedly told the company they didn’t need a formal dining room. And yet, in Moesta’s conversations with actual buyers, the dining room table came up repeatedly. “People kept saying, ‘As soon as I figured out what to do with my dining room table, then I was free to move,’” says Moesta. The table represented family. 

What was stopping buyers from making the decision to move, he hypothesized, was not a feature that the construction company had failed to offer, but rather, the anxiety that came with giving up something that had profound meaning. “I went in thinking they were in the business of new-home construction,” Moesta recalls. “But I realized they were in the business of moving lives.”

To solve this problem, the company offered moving services, two years of free storage, and a "sorting room" in the condominium where new owners could dump their stuff and then take their time deciding what to keep and what to discard. And it worked. Brilliant.

Once you understand the actual barriers and "jobs to be done," you can solve for them. Sometimes it might be a design problem, but it could be something totally unexpected. Regardless, the solution lies in caring about and understanding your customers. This is true in all market conditions.