If you have a long, painful, soul-crushing commute, Tesla has a solution for you: Full Self-Driving (their autonomous, but still supervised, self-driving technology). And it makes sense that Tesla would position its product in this way. A great deal of our built environment (the vast majority of it in some geographies) has been designed around the car. We are dependent. And this is an obvious solution to its negatives.
To be clear, I'm excited about autonomy, which is why it's a frequent topic on this blog. But the urbanist in me can't help but think that positioning it in this way is in some ways a solution to the wrong problem. Here's an alternative solution: live and work in a walkable, transit-oriented community.
Imagine, for instance, pitching this Tesla positioning to a Tokyoite. Tokyo is reported to have the highest railway modal split in the world. According to some measurements, only something like 12% of trips in the city are done by car. So if you said, "FSD is the solution to your long and boring commute. Now you can just sit, relax, read a book, do work, or play on your phone!" it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine Tokyoites saying that they already do this on a train.
Of course, Tokyo is a unique place, and there are lots of car-dependent cities where there is simply no other practical option. I also recognize that housing attainability is a major driver of sprawl. In these cases, FSD represents a meaningful quality-of-life upgrade.
Again, I support this happening, but at the same time, I worry about it placating us into thinking that we've solved one of the major negatives of urban sprawl. Yes, you have to sit in a car for two hours each day, but now you're not actually driving. Isn't that, like, so much better? In a best-case scenario, we maintain the status quo when it comes to our built environment. And in the worst-case scenario, it leads to even more sprawl.
This is an open question that we have on this blog: To what extent will self-driving cars increase our willingness to commute? Historically, new mobility technologies have promoted urban sprawl because they allowed us to travel greater distances in the same amount of time. Consider streetcar suburbs and then our car-oriented suburbs.
A big part of the AV argument is not that they will solve traffic congestion (they won't); it's that they will make your commute suck a lot less, and in an even rosier scenario, become a kind of "third space" where people work, relax, or whatever. This, in turn, will make sprawl more widely palatable.
But the more I think about this, the less I believe it. Marchetti's Constant tells us that humans have generally maintained a consistent "time budget" for commuting irrespective of the technology being used. Will this time really be different?
On the flip side, there are many who would argue that urban sprawl is a natural market outcome. Not everyone wants the "utopian, socially-engineered dream" that urbanists and YIMBYs like me want. And this is a fair response. I believe in individual freedoms. Give people housing options (we're very bad at this) and let them choose where they want to live.
But we should acknowledge the tradeoffs. Traffic congestion is a clear byproduct of urban sprawl and land-use patterns that leave no other practical option for getting around. Complaining about traffic is complaining about sprawl. One more lane or cars that drive themselves have not been shown to change this relationship.
Sprawl also contributes to greater loneliness and declines in happiness. In 2000, Robert Putnam argued in his book, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community, that, roughly speaking, every 10 minutes of additional travel time leads to a 10% reduction in social connections. We spend less time with our families, friends, and communities.
There's little doubt that self-driving cars will make commutes more tolerable. But perhaps that's not ambitious enough.
There is a school of thought that elevated rail is bad, or at least suboptimal, for cities. The thinking is that it's a visual blight, it's noisy, it disconnects neighbourhoods, and it can even reduce surrounding real estate values. Having a train passing directly in front of your window is admittedly less ideal than not having a train passing directly in front of your window.
But there is no shortage of examples from around the world where elevated rail does far more to benefit a community than detract from it. Tokyo is perhaps the obvious place to look. It is decidedly rail-oriented city with the majority of its network above ground and countless examples of active commercial spaces being tucked under and adjacent to elevated rail.
Here, for example, is a restaurant that I visited on my last trip and that was immediately adjacent to a track:
But you don't have to travel all the way to Japan to find examples where elevated rail does little to detract from the urban experience. Here's Marine Drive station in Vancouver, integrated into a newish development:
And here's what the elevated guideway looks like as it heads toward the station:
The obvious advantage of elevated rail is that it's significantly cheaper than underground rail. According to global data collected by the Transit Costs Project at New York University, underground rail tends to be at least 2x the cost — often it's even more. Are the benefits worth this additional cost, and is it worth building less overall transit with the same capital budget?
Elevated rail is not without its drawbacks, but good design and urban sensibilities can help to mitigate many of them. As is the case with a lot of urban design, what matters most is how we treat the ground plane underneath the rail. So, to the extent that it remains out there, I think it's time we get rid of any stigmas associated with elevated rail. More transit is better than less transit.
Cover photo by Daiji Sasahara on Unsplash
Tokyo is a city of contrasts. It is both hyper-modern and steeped in tradition. It is known for art, architecture, design, and fashion, yet it's also a city that — through its built form — makes the argument that architecture is irrelevant.
While the city certainly has countless examples of remarkable architecture, the vast majority of its buildings are arguably just that — buildings. They are a nondescript part of the urban fabric that give back through their siting, scale, rhythm, and mix of uses rather than their raw architectural qualities. Sometimes you may not even be able to see the building past all the signage.
If you were looking for a city to support the argument that urbanism matters more than architecture, I think Tokyo would be a good place to start.
What Tokyo does so successfully is ground-up urbanism (as opposed to top-down master planning). Flexible permissions, mixed-use zones by default, and an orientation around rail have allowed Tokyo to organically evolve into one of the most livable global cities on the planet.
In fact, I think you'd be hard-pressed to find any city of this magnitude that is simultaneously this livable. Which makes me wonder: Are we spending too much time worrying about architecture?
It is common for big cities to have design review processes. These typically consist of a panel of experts who evaluate new development proposals based on their architectural and urban design qualities. The comments that come back might suggest that a long facade be visually "broken up," or that additional stepbacks be introduced in order to mitigate the impact on the street and improve sky views. It's a process that can be lengthy.
But what Tokyo tells us is that, while architecture matters a great deal, it may not be the most important thing to focus on from a city-building standpoint. What matters more is the space and relationship between these buildings, the uses and permissions granted to their occupants, and the overall relationship to transit infrastructure. Here, urbanism is more critical than architecture.
If you buy this argument, then design review panels aren't actually our most pressing priority. Instead, what we should have is a kind of urbanism review panel. But rather than react to new developments, its job would be to go out and proactively identify and fix bad urbanism: this street is too narrow, this street is too wide, OMG what were we thinking here, and so on.
Then, when a new development proposal comes along, this panel would get out of the way and let the market decide what it wants to be. It would trust that it had done its job and laid the right preconditions for good urbanism to emerge.
Sounds weird and unsettling, doesn't it? Except, we might be pleasantly surprised by what it would lead to.
Cover photo by Fred Nassar on Unsplash