One of the things I try to be aware of is the language that I use to describe things. Because the words and conventions we use can impact how we perceive things and they can also reinforce certain inherent biases. (I have a good friend who is an expert on this topic, so he has heightened my awareness.)

For instance, I find that we tend to equate home and house. In other words, we’ll use the descriptors detached house and detached home interchangeably. And when we say that someone is a homeowner, it can sometimes, or often, mean that they have purchased a house.

The same does not seem to be true for apartments and condominiums. Rarely do I hear people say that they live in an apartment home or a condominium home. It’s just an apartment or condo.

This is meaningful because the emotionally charged word is home. It signifies a subjective (and usually comforting) experience, whereas the word house, I would argue, represents a building typology. And so by conflating the two, I often feel that we’re promoting a cultural bias that privileges houses as the ideal building typology. A true home is a house.

The other word that I often think about in my business is unit. When we talk about multi-family buildings we often – and I’m definitely guilty of this – refer to each suite as a unit. We’ll say things like: “This is a 200 unit building and the unit mix is as follows…”

Again, I am absolutely guilty of this. But at the same time, I often think about how this word, unit, is probably the furthest thing away from a home. Who wants to live in a unit? That doesn’t sound very pleasant. In fact, it sounds clinical. People want to live in a home. Now that’s a word with positive psychological associations.

And so by reducing each home to a unit, I think it could be making us lose sight of the fact that each suite will eventually be lived in by someone who will then make it their home. Yes they can be considered a customer who are paying for a product (a great place to live), but I don’t think that should take anything away from its homeyness. 

I live in a condominium and it is my home. What about you?

Image: Flickr

This evening I participated in a roundtable discussion at WORKshop here in Toronto. It was part of an exhibition that they currently have on called, Toronto 2020: Where Will We Live? They are located in the concourse level of 80 Bloor Street West, so go check them out.

The discussion this evening was all about the dramatic change in Toronto’s urban form over the last decade. In other words, the condo boom. We covered everything from the life cycle of buildings and urban design to demographics and policy. It was a lot of fun and I am certain the group could have continued talking all night.

But one thing that I was reminded of this evening is how important it is for great city building to be cross-disciplinary.

Take, for example, architects and (real estate) developers. 

The stereotypical developer is greedy and only concerned with money. They don’t care about the impact that their buildings have on the built environment. On the other hand, the stereotypical architect is only concerned with design and not with the economic feasibility of projects. (I’m exaggerating here for effect.)

The point is that neither of these participants in isolation could build a great city. A beautiful design doesn’t have much value if it can’t be financed and built. And a highly financeable project could end up contributing nothing to the city. In some cases it could actually detract from the built environment.

So if we really want to build truly great cities, I believe it needs to be a collaborative effort. We need to bridge the divides in thinking and leverage each other’s strengths. 

I have felt very strongly about this since I first started studying architecture as an undergraduate student, which is how I ended up taking business and real estate classes. I felt and continue to feel that the greatest opportunities exist at the intersection of different ways of thinking.

One of the things I try to be aware of is the language that I use to describe things. Because the words and conventions we use can impact how we perceive things and they can also reinforce certain inherent biases. (I have a good friend who is an expert on this topic, so he has heightened my awareness.)

For instance, I find that we tend to equate home and house. In other words, we’ll use the descriptors detached house and detached home interchangeably. And when we say that someone is a homeowner, it can sometimes, or often, mean that they have purchased a house.

The same does not seem to be true for apartments and condominiums. Rarely do I hear people say that they live in an apartment home or a condominium home. It’s just an apartment or condo.

This is meaningful because the emotionally charged word is home. It signifies a subjective (and usually comforting) experience, whereas the word house, I would argue, represents a building typology. And so by conflating the two, I often feel that we’re promoting a cultural bias that privileges houses as the ideal building typology. A true home is a house.

The other word that I often think about in my business is unit. When we talk about multi-family buildings we often – and I’m definitely guilty of this – refer to each suite as a unit. We’ll say things like: “This is a 200 unit building and the unit mix is as follows…”

Again, I am absolutely guilty of this. But at the same time, I often think about how this word, unit, is probably the furthest thing away from a home. Who wants to live in a unit? That doesn’t sound very pleasant. In fact, it sounds clinical. People want to live in a home. Now that’s a word with positive psychological associations.

And so by reducing each home to a unit, I think it could be making us lose sight of the fact that each suite will eventually be lived in by someone who will then make it their home. Yes they can be considered a customer who are paying for a product (a great place to live), but I don’t think that should take anything away from its homeyness. 

I live in a condominium and it is my home. What about you?

Image: Flickr

This evening I participated in a roundtable discussion at WORKshop here in Toronto. It was part of an exhibition that they currently have on called, Toronto 2020: Where Will We Live? They are located in the concourse level of 80 Bloor Street West, so go check them out.

The discussion this evening was all about the dramatic change in Toronto’s urban form over the last decade. In other words, the condo boom. We covered everything from the life cycle of buildings and urban design to demographics and policy. It was a lot of fun and I am certain the group could have continued talking all night.

But one thing that I was reminded of this evening is how important it is for great city building to be cross-disciplinary.

Take, for example, architects and (real estate) developers. 

The stereotypical developer is greedy and only concerned with money. They don’t care about the impact that their buildings have on the built environment. On the other hand, the stereotypical architect is only concerned with design and not with the economic feasibility of projects. (I’m exaggerating here for effect.)

The point is that neither of these participants in isolation could build a great city. A beautiful design doesn’t have much value if it can’t be financed and built. And a highly financeable project could end up contributing nothing to the city. In some cases it could actually detract from the built environment.

So if we really want to build truly great cities, I believe it needs to be a collaborative effort. We need to bridge the divides in thinking and leverage each other’s strengths. 

I have felt very strongly about this since I first started studying architecture as an undergraduate student, which is how I ended up taking business and real estate classes. I felt and continue to feel that the greatest opportunities exist at the intersection of different ways of thinking.