I recently tweeted a photo of 701 Côte de la Place-d'Armes in Montréal and asked: Who says buildings need stepbacks?

The response was exactly as I expected. Modern planning, as you know, is obsessed with setbacks, stepbacks, angular planes, shadow studies, skyviews, and lots of other things that inform the overall massing of new buildings. But then you point out a building like 701 Côte de la Place-d'Armes — which is not set back from the street and does not have any stepbacks above — and lots of people seem to love it.

In fact, I specifically chose to share this building because it's exactly the kind of architecture and urban design that conveys the feeling of grandeur I get when I'm in Montréal. I also chose it because it's taller than six storeys, which is the height that Toronto is hoping to one day deliver along its major streets at scale.

But here's a question: If this stepback-less building is so great, why are stepbacks so in-demand?

Firstly, I should point out that when the building was completed in 1870, it only had five floors. The top floor was an attic storey and had a mansard roof reminiscent of Haussmannian Second Empire architecture.

Then in 1909, the attic floor was removed, and three new floors were added (a net increase of two floors). If you look closely above the fourth floor, you'll see a slightly different architectural expression, but one that remains harmonious with the original design of the building.

This approach breaks many of the rules for how modern planning thinks about heritage buildings. Today, it is likely that someone would have asked for a stepback above the existing building, with a completely new expression above it. Admittedly, this can produce desirable results. But it's not what was decided in 1909, and the result is a very handsome building.

This gets us back to our original question: Why do we insist on stepbacks, but still like architecture like this one so much? I think there are at least two answers at play here.

The first has to do with architecture and design. If you were to pluck random people off the street and ask them about their architectural tastes, I would bet you that more people would prefer something Neoclassical or Beaux-Arts over something modern. And if people actually like the architecture, then I think they become more comfortable with scale, or perceived scale.

The second answer has to do with the fact that one way to look at stepbacks is as a defensive architectural tool. They have become a tool we use when someone doesn't actually want a building to be built. We use them to try and soften the massing by hiding as much of it as possible.

The problem with this approach is that it also means we're not playing offence. And if you want urban grandeur, I think you need to play offence. You need to be confident and decisive about what you're trying to do. And I think this is part of the reason why so many people seem to like 701 Côte de la Place-d'Armes. It is all of these things, and it's not in their backyard.

Cover photo by Macy Nguyen on Unsplash; historic photo from Hôtel Place d'Armes

I recently tweeted a photo of 701 Côte de la Place-d'Armes in Montréal and asked: Who says buildings need stepbacks?

The response was exactly as I expected. Modern planning, as you know, is obsessed with setbacks, stepbacks, angular planes, shadow studies, skyviews, and lots of other things that inform the overall massing of new buildings. But then you point out a building like 701 Côte de la Place-d'Armes — which is not set back from the street and does not have any stepbacks above — and lots of people seem to love it.

In fact, I specifically chose to share this building because it's exactly the kind of architecture and urban design that conveys the feeling of grandeur I get when I'm in Montréal. I also chose it because it's taller than six storeys, which is the height that Toronto is hoping to one day deliver along its major streets at scale.

But here's a question: If this stepback-less building is so great, why are stepbacks so in-demand?

Firstly, I should point out that when the building was completed in 1870, it only had five floors. The top floor was an attic storey and had a mansard roof reminiscent of Haussmannian Second Empire architecture.

Then in 1909, the attic floor was removed, and three new floors were added (a net increase of two floors). If you look closely above the fourth floor, you'll see a slightly different architectural expression, but one that remains harmonious with the original design of the building.

This approach breaks many of the rules for how modern planning thinks about heritage buildings. Today, it is likely that someone would have asked for a stepback above the existing building, with a completely new expression above it. Admittedly, this can produce desirable results. But it's not what was decided in 1909, and the result is a very handsome building.

This gets us back to our original question: Why do we insist on stepbacks, but still like architecture like this one so much? I think there are at least two answers at play here.

The first has to do with architecture and design. If you were to pluck random people off the street and ask them about their architectural tastes, I would bet you that more people would prefer something Neoclassical or Beaux-Arts over something modern. And if people actually like the architecture, then I think they become more comfortable with scale, or perceived scale.

The second answer has to do with the fact that one way to look at stepbacks is as a defensive architectural tool. They have become a tool we use when someone doesn't actually want a building to be built. We use them to try and soften the massing by hiding as much of it as possible.

The problem with this approach is that it also means we're not playing offence. And if you want urban grandeur, I think you need to play offence. You need to be confident and decisive about what you're trying to do. And I think this is part of the reason why so many people seem to like 701 Côte de la Place-d'Armes. It is all of these things, and it's not in their backyard.

Cover photo by Macy Nguyen on Unsplash; historic photo from Hôtel Place d'Armes