Surface Magazine – and more specifically the CEO of Surface Magazine – recently published this article criticizing the “trend” toward designing for Instagrammable moments.
Here is an excerpt:
We—and yes, this includes architects, too—have succumbed to the pressures of gaining followers, likes, and comments. High-priced, difficult-to-attain architecture degrees are now, incomprehensibly, being used to create “Instagrammable” installations for things like impromptu selfie fashion shoots and hotel lobby photo booths. The whole thing is, I must say, sad. It’s embarrassing enough that our team at Surface has received press releases from architects promoting their latest project with “Instagram-friendly interiors.” They can’t be serious.
And here are his final words:
If retail is dead, then its rebirth will depend on creating memorable atmospheres that don’t call for #✌💙👯🙋📷.
I certainly appreciate the push for lasting and memorable spaces, but, at the same time, I can’t say I’m nearly as fussed about lobby selfies and the alleged timelessness of Instagram.
In fact, I think it would be an interesting exercise to study how social media may be impacting the way we design physical spaces.
Maybe it is simply a fad being promulgated by “knucklehead junior marketers” or maybe 100 years from now nerdy architectural historians will look back on that quaint period of time when we designed spaces to service rudimentary 2D images shared amongst friends.
Whatever the case may be, I think that architecture, like all art, should embody the milieu in which it was designed.
But often we have biases telling us that what is new is not as good as what’s existing and already accepted.
Marketing guru Seth Godin recently published this value triangle on his blog:
No matter what business you’re in, it’s worth giving some thought to this. What do you offer?
At the bottom of the triangle is function. A hotel room functions as a place to sleep. A smartphone functions as a device to make calls, send text messages, and download some apps. A condominium functions as a place to live, eat, sleep, have sex, and so on. But all functions being equal, most of us will buy whatever product is the cheapest.
That is until there’s an emotional connection. I love the way Seth frames it: “Where do people like me do things like this?” It is about defining who you are. Am I the kind of person who buys A or am I the kind of person who buys B? If I care deeply about the environment and B promises to respect that, I am likely to buy B.
But then, moving even further up the triangle, if two items offer the same function and the same emotional connection, many of us will go for the one that appears sexier, shinier (the new iPhone 7 is very shiny), and more stylish. It just deepens the connection.
Finally, at the very top of the triangle is now. This is about scarcity. What’s hot right now? Think of that new restaurant that just opened downtown that you haven’t been able to get a table at. It’s now and you want to Instagram the food so badly so that you can show everyone you were there. You want to be now.
The point of all of this is that we consume things for reasons that go well beyond simple function. That’s just the start of it all. One could argue that all of this is simply smoke and mirrors, but that’s a topic for another blog post. This is our reality.
To relate this topic back to architecture and real estate, I am curious how many of you have made a housing decision that you believe went beyond function. How much of it was based on connection and style?
Not surprisingly, for me, architecture and design matter a great deal.
Earlier this summer I was driving around the city with my father and he was pointing out to me all of the new build single family homes that were sprouting up. He then asked me what I thought of them. I responded: “They’re shit.”
What I was really saying with that glib remark was that those homes – no matter how expensive – didn’t reflect my own belief system about the world. Sure they served their function, but they didn’t offer the connection and style that “people like me” like to praise. To borrow once again from Seth: we are all part of a certain tribe.
What tribe do you belong to? And does your housing choice reflect that?
“Toronto is a city that has long struggled to make any sort of impression on the imagination.”
That is how Monocle correspondent Christopher Frey started his recent architectural feature on Toronto’s iconic City Hall. To watch the video click here. It’s about 5 minutes long.
As a born and raised Torontonian who loves this city, I absolutely hate that sort of introduction. But at the same time, it doesn’t surprise me. Growing up in this city, there were always the haters. However, I think it’s important to keep 2 things in mind.
Firstly, Toronto has gone through a dramatic transformation over the last decade or so. In fact, I recently had a friend say to me: “Brandon, 10 years ago you told me that Toronto was going to be a super cool global city. I didn’t believe you then. But you were right.” This is what I was getting at in my Guardian Cities piece when I talked about how people are becoming noticeably more passionate about this city. (I actually wrote about what my friend said but they edited that part out.)
Secondly, if you’ve ever read Seth Godin’s book All Marketers Are Liars, you might remember this line:
“We believe what we want to believe, and once we believe something, it becomes a self-fulfilling truth.” -Seth Godin
— Brandon G. Donnelly (@donnelly_b)
To illustrate what he means by this, Godin uses the example–among many others–of Riedel wine glasses. Riedel is a high end glassware company founded on the belief that every type of wine needs its own unique glass shape. And indeed, their customers believe that the right glass makes all the difference in terms of how their wine will taste. That’s why they buy them.
However, when you blindfold those same people, they are no longer able to tell the difference between a Riedel wine glass and some cheap alternative. The wine all of a sudden tastes the same. What that tells us is that when we believe something is supposed to be better, we actually experience it differently. You could say that we’re actually lying to ourself.
And I’ve thought about this same phenomenon when it comes to cities. When people visit a place like New York they’re supposed to like it. That’s what everybody tells them. New York is great. You’ll love it. But ultimately, that “supposed to” changes how people experience the city.
Which is why when Toronto gets introduced as being bland and banal I get upset. Not only because I disagree, but because I know it’s creating a “supposed to” in somebody’s mind. And that’s not the story we should be telling as a city.
Image: Wikipedia