If you're looking to block new development, drive up the cost of housing, and appear "progressive" all at the same time, one generally effective technique is to do it under the guise of historic preservation. San Francisco is really good at this, as are many other cities. And it works because, who doesn't think that history is important?

This exact thing just transpired in San Francisco, where earlier this year Supervisor Aaron Peskin passed an ordinance enacting new density controls for most development in the Northeast Waterfront Historic District, the Jackson Square Historic District, and the Jackson Square Historic District Extension (solid neighborhood names).

Of course, sometimes you can run into resistance when you're trying to push through new anti-housing policies. And in this case, San Francisco Mayor London Breed actually vetoed Peskin's bill. In a letter dated March 14, 2024, she wrote:

Restricting new housing runs counter to the goals of our Housing Element, which the Board of Supervisors unanimously approved just over a year ago. It also runs counter to what we need to do to make this City a place that creates opportunities for new homes for the people who need them today and for future generations growing up in San Francisco.

This ordinance passes off anti-housing policy in the guise of historic protections. Existing rules already protect against impacts to historic resources. I believe we can add new homes while also supporting and improving the vibrancy of our unique neighborhoods. Many areas of San Francisco, including eastern neighborhoods like the South of Market, Potrero Hill, and the Mission, have also already removed density limits to encourage new housing.

However, her veto was ultimately overridden by the Board of Supervisors and so, as far as I understand it, the above density controls stand.

What's particularly frustrating about this outcome -- sarcasm now firmly off -- is that it so obviously reeks of NIMBY selfishness. Here's an elaborate infographic created by Max Dubler explaining what many in San Francisco believe is the real reason behind this downzoning:

Here is also a street view image from the area, along The Embarcadero:

But like I said, San Francisco seems to be really adept at this sort of maneuvering.

I am reading Malcolm Gladwell's latest book right now, called Talking to Strangers: What We Should Know about the People We Don't Know, and I am intrigued by the chapter on Sylvia Plath's unfortunate suicide and the concept of "coupling." The idea behind coupling, which stands in contrast to displacement, is that when someone makes the very sad decision to commit suicide, it can often be coupled to a particular place or context.

Malcolm starts by giving the example of "town gas." Prior to it being phased out in the 1960s and 1970s, most homes in Britain relied on a form of gas that contained carbon monoxide. And sadly, it became the most popular way for people to kill themselves. When Sylvia Plath took her own life in 1962, the death-by-carbon-monoxide-poisoning stat was 44.2% of all suicides in England and Wales.

The concept of displacement, on the other hand, surmises that if somebody wants to kill themselves, they will eventually find another way. But Malcolm convincingly argues that that is not necessarily or very often the case. As town gas was phased out of British homes, the number of suicides also declined in lockstep. Turns out that many of the previous suicides had been coupled to that particular tool.

Why this is potentially valuable to this blog audience is that this same coupling phenomenon can happen within our cities and to particular places. Malcolm gives the example of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, which has been the site of many suicides since it was first erected in 1937. The same, of course, can be the said about many subway systems around the world.

But again, there's evidence to suggest that if you can save somebody on the Golden Gate Bridge (a suicide barrier was erected in 2018) or on a subway system by installing safety doors, there's a good chance that many of those people will never actually find another way to commit suicide. In other words, you can save a bunch of lives by having the right provisions in place and not assuming that something is a foregone conclusion.

Photo by Chris Leipelt on Unsplash

I learned today that the hard hat will celebrate its 100th anniversary this year.

Patented in 1919, the hard hat was invented by a man named Edward W. Bullard (though his father had already been making protective leather caps for the mining industry). Edward had just returned to the United States after World War I and he began to wonder why construction workers weren't wearing helmets like the one he had been wearing overseas. So he decided to make one.

Edward's first product was called the Hard Boiled Hat, and it was made out of steamed canvas and leather. Similar to today, an early version of the hat featured a "suspension system," which created an air cavity between head and helmet and cushioned any blows to the head. This overarching design approach hasn't really changed all that much over the years, but Bullard's hats did go from canvas to aluminum (1938) and then to plastic (1950). Plastic is, of course, cheaper to produce.

Supposedly, the first designated "Hard Hat Area" in the US was the Golden Gate Bridge site, which started construction in 1933. This should give you a sense of the hard hat's adoption curve. It seemingly took well over a decade for construction sites to start mandating their usage, and even then it doesn't appear to have been ubiquitous.

The company -- which was founded in 1898 in San Francisco -- is now in its fifth generation of family ownership, according to the New York Times.

Photo by Guilherme Cunha on Unsplash