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A decision on legalizing small businesses like cafés and corner stores in the interior of Toronto’s neighbourhoods — under a framework city planners had winnowed down since last year in the face of heavy opposition from residents’ associations — has once again been punted into the future.
At Toronto’s Planning and Housing committee on Thursday, officials decided to defer a decision on allowing more small businesses in neighbourhood interiors, instead green-lighting changes only along major streets and to the rules for home-based businesses, which still require final approval from city council.
Planning changes always seem to happen slowly, painfully, and incrementally. I remember giving presentations on laneway housing back in 2013-2014, and I would always say "this is inevitable — it's a question of when, not if."
At the time, this felt like a bold statement because it was nearly impossible to get a laneway house approved. You had to be cunning, willing to fight for years and, even then, you might not be successful. Now they're permitted as-of-right and they, frankly, no longer feel novel. They're just something we do around here.
Of course, the same will eventually be true of small-scale neighbourhood retail. Especially because it was what we used to do before we created rules against it. But as always, things happen slowly, painfully, and incrementally.
If you'd like to download the proposed Major Streets Zoning By-law Amendment, click here, and if you'd like to download the proposed Home Occupations Zoning By-law Amendment, click here.
Cover photo by Dan Burton on Unsplash
I tweeted this yesterday (please forgive the grammar mistake).
What it shows is a bunch of narrow urban properties ranging, for the most part, from 5 to 7 storeys. Some of them are old buildings, and some are new. Regardless, the point I wanted to make was that this is a scale and rhythm of building that does wonders for cities. They’re dense, they have a compact footprint, and they promote urban vibrancy.
And yet, it's a building type that is far too difficult to develop in many cities. It is not always the case, but oftentimes the only way to underwrite these kinds of projects is to make them ultra high-end. That's a shame. So let’s talk about this a little more, starting with what makes this urban pattern so appealing.
I was out for dinner last night on Ossington (here in Toronto). Afterwards, my business partner Rick and I walked the street for a bit. It was a beautiful evening. Every restaurant had their doors and windows open. All of the patios were full, many with the kind of awnings that I love from Paris. And in between these patios were endless options for beautiful window shopping. So during our walk, we couldn't help but say to each other, "man, what an awesome street."
Our line of thinking then went here: How did this ~600-meter stretch of street between Queen and Dundas become one of the coolest retail streets in the city? As you might expect, it follows the typical urban trajectory. It was a seedy street with cheap(er) rents. Then the artists and creatives started moving in, along with OG dive bars like Sweaty Betty's. And then the city implemented a brief moratorium on bars and restaurants because things were getting a bit too fun.
I also think it's fair to call Ossington's rise as being a spillover from Queen Street West. As rents rose on Queen, Ossington became a natural outlet. It was in the right location, and it already had a commercially-oriented and fine-grained ground plane, meaning the buildings could be easily repurposed for galleries, bars, restaurants, and whatever else. This is also why the strip just dies north of Dundas — there are no more suitable buildings.
To show you just how entrenched this built form was and is, here are a few archival photos from the 1920s and 1940s:
Beyond this, there's nothing particularly special about Ossington as a street. It has a 20-meter width, which is typical of most of Toronto's central main streets, and it's filled with a bunch of 2 to 3 storey buildings. So another thing it does is make you wonder: How many more Ossington Avenues could Toronto have if only we created the right preconditions for new businesses and ideas to flourish?
Of course, not every street can be an Ossington. What I'm talking about is simply creating more walkable, mixed-use streets. That's a lot harder to do when you don't have the bones that Ossington had, and you have primarily large lots and/or residential uses. But that doesn't mean it's impossible. As Toronto works to intensify its major streets, it's crucial that we also consider what the ground plane might one day want to become.
More on this in future posts.
One key thing that narrow lots and narrow retail frontages do is increase the number of destinations within walking distance. This promotes visual interest by always showing you something new.
At the same time, there are numerous economic benefits to this urban pattern. Smaller shops lower the barrier to entry for small businesses and allow greater adaptability. Change is able to happen faster, and if one or two businesses happen to turnover on a street, it’s not the end of the world.
One way I like to think of this is in terms of shops per step.
For example, let's assume that the average walking speed is 4 km/hour and that, as a starting point, fine-grained urbanism translates into storefronts that are around 6 m wide. This would mean the average person walking on a street would see a new shop (or retail frontage) about every 9 steps.
If we instead assume a retail frontage of something like 30 m (which is five times our original 6 m), then the average person would need approximately 43 steps for every shop. This is a meaningful difference that fundamentally changes the character of a street. If you’ve ever walked on a great main street, you know this, even if you’ve never explicitly acknowledged it.
But this is only the ground floor. The other benefit of these simple, straight-up infills is that they also bring homes and offices to the same compact footprint. Density is good. It is a prerequisite for urban vibrancy. And it can be achieved simply. Strip away the facade ornament from the building examples in my tweet, and these are extruded boxes with no stepbacks to speak of.
This used to be how many (or most) cities built fabric buildings at scale, but for many reasons, we forgot how. One of the reasons is that we’ve generally made building things more onerous, and that means developers need bigger and bigger projects to justify the costs.
But it's clear our desire to experience human-scaled environments hasn’t changed. So I reckon it’s about time to bring back the skinny extruded boxes.
Cover photo by Praewthida K on Unsplash
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