IKEA opened its first permanent showroom in 1953. And by 1965, it had opened a 500,000 sf flagship store on the outskirts of Stockholm.

Supposedly, the inspiration for this new store was Frank Lloyd Wright's Guggenheim Museum in New York. Inspired by its continuous looping design, IKEA wanted to create a real-life version of its well-known catalog. This led to the current maze-like design where you wander through staged living spaces and get excited to buy lots of things.

However, as IKEA began to open in more urban locations it actually started doing away with this prototypical design. The thinking, which seems perfectly reasonable, was that mazes weren't appropriate for smaller and more urban locations. These customers would want to pop in, quickly get what they need, and then leave.

But it turns out they were wrong. Their customers are telling them the opposite: they still want mazes. In other words, they want a curated experience that helps them figure out what to buy. According to IKEA: "People buy more when they are shown more." Sounds right. And so IKEA is now working to make its urban stores more, you know, maze-like.

The company has already done this in cities like Vienna and Paris, and apparently it consistently leads to higher sales. It's a good reminder that (1) humans are still humans regardless of where they live and (2) if you want people to visit and linger in your physical store, it's good practice to curate experiences.

P.S. I love IKEA.

In 1932, Frank Lloyd Wright -- the architect who hated tall people -- published a book called The Disappearing City. And in this book, he proposed a city planning concept known as the Broadacre City. Wright would go on to spend the rest of his career trying to both promote and perfect this concept, but the salient point is that it was fundamentally anti-urban:

Imagine spacious landscaped highways …giant roads, themselves great architecture, pass public service stations, no longer eyesores, expanded to include all kinds of service and comfort. They unite and separate — separate and unite the series of diversified units, the farm units, the factory units, the roadside markets, the garden schools, the dwelling places (each on its acre of individually adorned and cultivated ground), the places for pleasure and leisure. All of these units so arranged and so integrated that each citizen of the future will have all forms of production, distribution, self improvement, enjoyment, within a radius of a hundred and fifty miles of his home now easily and speedily available by means of his car or plane. This integral whole composes the great city that I see embracing all of this country—the Broadacre City of tomorrow.

It's important to remember that this was first proposed before the arrival of today's suburbs. So this was Wright's response to the squalors of urban life at that time. Many have called the Broadacre City a precursor to the modern suburb and, in many ways, that makes sense. Integral to his plan was, "the man seated in his automobile driving on highways."

But others see the plan as something totally different. It was about low-density and self-sufficient communities that could sprout up along highways, and not necessarily rely on some sort of decaying urban core. It was thought of as a place for Americans to return to the land.

Whatever your opinion, you'll be happy to know that Kith has just collaborated with New Balance and the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation on a trainer that commemorates this utopian vision. It is called the New Balance Made in USA 998 - Broadacre City, and naturally it comes in a variety of colorful earthy tones.

So if you're looking to celebrate the ethos of Wright and eschew the modern and walkable city, these are, I would think, the shoes for you. Apparently they're available online, or at Kith Tokyo, which is maybe intended to be ironic? Let's sell this Broadacre shoe from the largest urban center in the world.

Or maybe I'm overthinking this.

Photo: Kith

I have been in a few of Frank Lloyd Wright’s houses and in every case it turned out like this:

The Prairie School (of architecture), for which Wright was a pioneer, was all about horizontality. That typically meant flat roofs, deep overhangs and, in the case of Wright’s work, exceptionally low ceiling heights.

I’m about 6’3”. Many of his clear heights were less than 7’ and I believe his doorways were often 6’2”. This clearly doesn’t work for me, but it mattered for what Wright was trying to do. And I don’t think he was the type to worry about small matters like the comfort of tall people.

The above photos were taken at Taliesin West in Scottsdale, Arizona. Wright bought the land (495 acres) in 1937, and turned it into both his winter home and a teaching studio.

Apparently Wright paid $3.50 per acre at the time, which feels like a pretty good deal to me. It shows you the power of just buying and holding things over long periods of time.

Today, Taliesin West is the home base of Wright’s foundation and also a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I’m glad I was able to finally visit it after reading about it for so many years in architecture school.