We have spoken over the years -- here, here, and here -- about the centralizing and decentralizing forces that play out within our cities. Agglomeration economies, for example, are a centralizing force. There are real economic benefits to people and firms clustering together in cities.
However, there are also many decentralizing forces. Traffic congestion is one. And of course, the pandemic also proved to be a powerful one for many cities.
But the fact that we even have cities in the first place should tell you that the centralizing forces do tend to win out over the decentralizing ones. And a perfect example of this is Tokyo. Usually considered to be the largest metropolitan area in the world, Tokyo has about the population of Canada in one city region.
And here, the centralizing forces are so great -- even for families -- that the government actually pays people to relocate to places
We have spoken over the years -- here, here, and here -- about the centralizing and decentralizing forces that play out within our cities. Agglomeration economies, for example, are a centralizing force. There are real economic benefits to people and firms clustering together in cities.
However, there are also many decentralizing forces. Traffic congestion is one. And of course, the pandemic also proved to be a powerful one for many cities.
But the fact that we even have cities in the first place should tell you that the centralizing forces do tend to win out over the decentralizing ones. And a perfect example of this is Tokyo. Usually considered to be the largest metropolitan area in the world, Tokyo has about the population of Canada in one city region.
And here, the centralizing forces are so great -- even for families -- that the government actually pays people to relocate to places
outside
of Tokyo's 23 wards (and its immediately surrounding areas). Previously the maximum figure was ¥300,000 per child (~CA$3,056), but this has now been
A key driver of this is surely Japan's demographic problem (namely a shrinking and aging population base). But it doesn't change the fact that lots of people appear drawn to the world's largest city.
There is an ongoing debate about the value of cities hosting the Olympic Games. And that's because this is usually how it works: You, the host, spend a lot of money (Tokyo 2021 was over $25 billion), it feels really good during the games while the world is watching you on TV, and then everyone leaves and you have a big bill to pay.
As I understand it, this has generally been the case for almost all of the games. One rare exception is Los Angeles in 1984, which supposedly managed to make over $230 million from hosting. In pretty much every other case, the rough value was, at least in theory, things like exposure, ego, and hopefully a bunch of assets that will remain useful to other people once the games are done.
But as I have argued a few times before, perhaps the most important hard-to-quantify benefit is this: Hosting the Olympics creates an immutable city-building deadline. Because, what could be worse than not being ready when your global guests show up?
A perfect example of this is what Paris is now trying to do with the Seine ahead of the 2024 Olympics. The goal is to clean up the Seine so that it's actually safe enough for the athletes to compete in it. That would obviously be really cool for the games, but it would also be a wonderful legacy for Paris.
Would Paris still be doing this if it weren't hosting the games? Perhaps. Paris has a habit of doing some obviously good things. But I bet it wouldn't be moving nearly as quickly.
outside
of Tokyo's 23 wards (and its immediately surrounding areas). Previously the maximum figure was ¥300,000 per child (~CA$3,056), but this has now been
A key driver of this is surely Japan's demographic problem (namely a shrinking and aging population base). But it doesn't change the fact that lots of people appear drawn to the world's largest city.
There is an ongoing debate about the value of cities hosting the Olympic Games. And that's because this is usually how it works: You, the host, spend a lot of money (Tokyo 2021 was over $25 billion), it feels really good during the games while the world is watching you on TV, and then everyone leaves and you have a big bill to pay.
As I understand it, this has generally been the case for almost all of the games. One rare exception is Los Angeles in 1984, which supposedly managed to make over $230 million from hosting. In pretty much every other case, the rough value was, at least in theory, things like exposure, ego, and hopefully a bunch of assets that will remain useful to other people once the games are done.
But as I have argued a few times before, perhaps the most important hard-to-quantify benefit is this: Hosting the Olympics creates an immutable city-building deadline. Because, what could be worse than not being ready when your global guests show up?
A perfect example of this is what Paris is now trying to do with the Seine ahead of the 2024 Olympics. The goal is to clean up the Seine so that it's actually safe enough for the athletes to compete in it. That would obviously be really cool for the games, but it would also be a wonderful legacy for Paris.
Would Paris still be doing this if it weren't hosting the games? Perhaps. Paris has a habit of doing some obviously good things. But I bet it wouldn't be moving nearly as quickly.
Japanese Metabolism was a post-war architectural movement that was based around the idea that cities and buildings should be able to grow and transform just like other organisms. There are other elements to the movement, but this was at its core. And perhaps the best example of the Metabolism movement was the Nakagin Capsule Tower in Tokyo (pictured above).
Constructed between 1970 and 1972, the 13-storey tower consisted of two structural elements and 140 self-contained / prefabricated capsules that were hung off the building's cores.
The original intent was that these capsules could be removed and replaced over time and that the building could evolve just like any other organism might. But that never really happened and, coming on the end, only about 30 of the 140 capsules were apparently still being lived in, with the others being used for various purposes, such as storage, or not at all.
And so after a whole lot of debate, the building was disassembled earlier this year, which isn't quite the same as a straight demolition. The pods were removed and then the core came down.
But a number of the pods have been salvaged. The architect's family took 4 pods and created an Airbnb retreat a few hours outside of Tokyo. And a longtime resident in the building decided to quit his job, acquire 23 of the capsules, and dedicate his life to now getting these things into museums and other commercial settings.
I don't feel like it's my place to comment on whether disassembling the tower was a good idea or not. But I do think there's something poetic about an icon of Metabolism having its capsules removed, restored, and then sprinkled around various places. Wasn't that always kind of the intent?
Japanese Metabolism was a post-war architectural movement that was based around the idea that cities and buildings should be able to grow and transform just like other organisms. There are other elements to the movement, but this was at its core. And perhaps the best example of the Metabolism movement was the Nakagin Capsule Tower in Tokyo (pictured above).
Constructed between 1970 and 1972, the 13-storey tower consisted of two structural elements and 140 self-contained / prefabricated capsules that were hung off the building's cores.
The original intent was that these capsules could be removed and replaced over time and that the building could evolve just like any other organism might. But that never really happened and, coming on the end, only about 30 of the 140 capsules were apparently still being lived in, with the others being used for various purposes, such as storage, or not at all.
And so after a whole lot of debate, the building was disassembled earlier this year, which isn't quite the same as a straight demolition. The pods were removed and then the core came down.
But a number of the pods have been salvaged. The architect's family took 4 pods and created an Airbnb retreat a few hours outside of Tokyo. And a longtime resident in the building decided to quit his job, acquire 23 of the capsules, and dedicate his life to now getting these things into museums and other commercial settings.
I don't feel like it's my place to comment on whether disassembling the tower was a good idea or not. But I do think there's something poetic about an icon of Metabolism having its capsules removed, restored, and then sprinkled around various places. Wasn't that always kind of the intent?
