I'm a big fan of walking. I like it for the health benefits, the freedom to explore, and the simple luxury of being able to walk to things. In fact, it's an important housing prerequisite for me: can I walk to stuff?
But as we often talk about on this blog, the ability to do this depends largely on the prevailing land use patterns, the overall built environment, and, to a great extent, when a neighborhood was built.
It is commonly argued that the "best" neighborhoods were all built before the widespread use of the car, and there's a lot of truth to this. (This makes me wonder if self-driving cars will eventually create a similar "pre and post" divide in our built environment.)
However, not everyone sees it this way. I just read an article about how residents in the suburbs of Minneapolis-St. Paul are vehemently opposed to the construction of sidewalks in areas where there are currently none.
Perhaps I haven't been paying enough attention to the suburban sidewalk wars, but this is the first time I've seen this level of opposition. Some people view sidewalks as a feature, and some people view them as a bug. Clearly, there are residents in the Twin Cities who view them as the latter.
Why? Because they interrupt large front lawns:
“I chose my home with the nice big lawn out front,” Edina resident Melissa Cohen told the mayor and City Council at a Dec. 8 hearing about proposed sidewalks for streets in Prospect Knolls. “We are in a quiet neighborhood. This does not require a sidewalk.”
And for some people, they're unsightly:
In 2007, a Golden Valley resident named Charles Upham told the Star Tribune “sidewalk is a four-letter word. U-G-L-Y.”
You could call it a kind of rural ideology, where sidewalks symbolize the opposite: the city. I suppose there are also practical considerations, like the fact that snow removal on sidewalks often becomes the homeowner's responsibility.
But it appears to me that a large part of this opposition stems from wanting to maintain some semblance of pastoral exclusivity, even if we're talking about higher-density suburbs and the opposition is masquerading as an environmental preservationist movement.
On the flip side, there are practical benefits to sidewalks. They give you a safe place to walk. So, what I wonder is to what extent are the people opposing these sidewalks also anti-walkers? Or is it that the traffic flows in these neighborhoods are so low that people simply feel comfortable walking on the street, like here?
Not surprisingly, there's lots of data to support that people who live in neighborhoods with sidewalks are significantly more likely to walk and be active. If you want people to walk more, build sidewalks. If you want people to ride bikes more, build bicycle lanes. And if you want people to drive more, build roads and highways.
This is how this behavioral stuff works. We're not completely independent actors; we're products of our environment.
Cover photo from The Minnesota Star Tribune
One of the benefits of older cities and neighbourhoods is that their scale and rhythm of development often allow for walkability and a wide variety of experiences in a short period of time (here's a related post). The typical characteristics include small lot sizes, diverse ownership, short city blocks, a mix of uses, and visual variety. And in planning speak, this is typically referred to as fine-grained urbanism.
Here's a random block example from Toronto that I'm choosing simply because I had a wonderful sourdough sandwich on this street over the weekend:
In some ways, the findings of this walkability study should feel intuitively obvious. But at the same time, it's an important reminder that we are all products of our environment. If you grow up and live in a city like San Francisco, there's going to be a higher probability that you will choose a career in something tech-related versus if you're in, say, Scranton, Pennsylvania. If you grow up and live in a city like Copenhagen, there's going to be a higher probability that you will cycle versus if you're in, say, Badger, Alaska.
And, it turns out, if you live in a walkable city, you're more likely to walk. Importantly, it doesn't appear to be because of some sort of "selection effect," meaning that people who like to be active naturally gravitate to more walkable cities. In the study, researchers analyzed smartphone data from 2013 to 2016 for 2 million people, including more than 5,000 people who moved during this time. What they found was that after relocating to a more walkable city, people took on average about 1,100 more steps a day (roughly 11 minutes of extra walking).
I'm a big fan of walking. I like it for the health benefits, the freedom to explore, and the simple luxury of being able to walk to things. In fact, it's an important housing prerequisite for me: can I walk to stuff?
But as we often talk about on this blog, the ability to do this depends largely on the prevailing land use patterns, the overall built environment, and, to a great extent, when a neighborhood was built.
It is commonly argued that the "best" neighborhoods were all built before the widespread use of the car, and there's a lot of truth to this. (This makes me wonder if self-driving cars will eventually create a similar "pre and post" divide in our built environment.)
However, not everyone sees it this way. I just read an article about how residents in the suburbs of Minneapolis-St. Paul are vehemently opposed to the construction of sidewalks in areas where there are currently none.
Perhaps I haven't been paying enough attention to the suburban sidewalk wars, but this is the first time I've seen this level of opposition. Some people view sidewalks as a feature, and some people view them as a bug. Clearly, there are residents in the Twin Cities who view them as the latter.
Why? Because they interrupt large front lawns:
“I chose my home with the nice big lawn out front,” Edina resident Melissa Cohen told the mayor and City Council at a Dec. 8 hearing about proposed sidewalks for streets in Prospect Knolls. “We are in a quiet neighborhood. This does not require a sidewalk.”
And for some people, they're unsightly:
In 2007, a Golden Valley resident named Charles Upham told the Star Tribune “sidewalk is a four-letter word. U-G-L-Y.”
You could call it a kind of rural ideology, where sidewalks symbolize the opposite: the city. I suppose there are also practical considerations, like the fact that snow removal on sidewalks often becomes the homeowner's responsibility.
But it appears to me that a large part of this opposition stems from wanting to maintain some semblance of pastoral exclusivity, even if we're talking about higher-density suburbs and the opposition is masquerading as an environmental preservationist movement.
On the flip side, there are practical benefits to sidewalks. They give you a safe place to walk. So, what I wonder is to what extent are the people opposing these sidewalks also anti-walkers? Or is it that the traffic flows in these neighborhoods are so low that people simply feel comfortable walking on the street, like here?
Not surprisingly, there's lots of data to support that people who live in neighborhoods with sidewalks are significantly more likely to walk and be active. If you want people to walk more, build sidewalks. If you want people to ride bikes more, build bicycle lanes. And if you want people to drive more, build roads and highways.
This is how this behavioral stuff works. We're not completely independent actors; we're products of our environment.
Cover photo from The Minnesota Star Tribune
One of the benefits of older cities and neighbourhoods is that their scale and rhythm of development often allow for walkability and a wide variety of experiences in a short period of time (here's a related post). The typical characteristics include small lot sizes, diverse ownership, short city blocks, a mix of uses, and visual variety. And in planning speak, this is typically referred to as fine-grained urbanism.
Here's a random block example from Toronto that I'm choosing simply because I had a wonderful sourdough sandwich on this street over the weekend:
In some ways, the findings of this walkability study should feel intuitively obvious. But at the same time, it's an important reminder that we are all products of our environment. If you grow up and live in a city like San Francisco, there's going to be a higher probability that you will choose a career in something tech-related versus if you're in, say, Scranton, Pennsylvania. If you grow up and live in a city like Copenhagen, there's going to be a higher probability that you will cycle versus if you're in, say, Badger, Alaska.
And, it turns out, if you live in a walkable city, you're more likely to walk. Importantly, it doesn't appear to be because of some sort of "selection effect," meaning that people who like to be active naturally gravitate to more walkable cities. In the study, researchers analyzed smartphone data from 2013 to 2016 for 2 million people, including more than 5,000 people who moved during this time. What they found was that after relocating to a more walkable city, people took on average about 1,100 more steps a day (roughly 11 minutes of extra walking).
The longest lots in the middle of this block are over 45 metres deep and under 5 metres wide. The result is some very long and narrow buildings, but at the same time, a lot of storefront variety when you're walking along Dupont Street. It has the bones for a great retail street. The only problem is that, for the most part, we don't build our cities like this anymore. We do the opposite. We build bigger, which is conversely referred to as coarse-grained urbanism.
But since we know that fine-grained urbanism makes for better street experiences, it is common to try to impose it on new developments. Cities will say, "Hey, I know that you have a big, wide, shallow retail space on the ground floor of your building, but can you chop it up into smaller, fine-grained spaces such that they all become totally unleasable?" (I half kid. See here for some context.)
The result:
To be clear, I am in no way picking on this development. As a rule, I don't do that sort of thing on this blog. Development is hard. I also like it. I just think it's perhaps the clearest example of what all urban-minded planners and developers are trying in earnest to do, and that is to create coarse-grained urbanism masquerading as fine-grained urbanism. The architectural rhythm of the storefronts matches the existing context, but the scale of the retailers may not.
And that's okay. This is the reality of the world today, and modern retailers want what they want. I'm also a believer in the power of free markets. But to this same end, I want to point out something that is exceedingly obvious: the best way to create fine-grained urbanism is to simply encourage small-scale development!
Every hurdle we erect only increases the incentive for developers to build bigger and coarser. It becomes the only way to underwrite profitable projects. The solution is to lower the barriers to development and, in turn, make small more feasible. Because if we do that, we already know it'll make our cities better. I think we'll also find that the market will respond with a different category of tenants and entrepreneurs.
Tomorrow, we'll talk about the specific ways in which Toronto and other cities could execute on this better.
The inverse was also true: people who relocated to less walkable cities tended to walk less. Again, on some level, this may seem intuitive, but it shows just how mutable our behaviours are. People will generally do what their built environments have been designed to accommodate — whether that's driving, cycling, or walking. Perhaps this also explains why, when I'm traveling, I want to buy that absurd article of clothing that I know I'll never wear back home in Toronto.
At the time, and in that environment, it feels appropriate.
Cover photo by Abby Rurenko on Unsplash
Map from Scientific American
The longest lots in the middle of this block are over 45 metres deep and under 5 metres wide. The result is some very long and narrow buildings, but at the same time, a lot of storefront variety when you're walking along Dupont Street. It has the bones for a great retail street. The only problem is that, for the most part, we don't build our cities like this anymore. We do the opposite. We build bigger, which is conversely referred to as coarse-grained urbanism.
But since we know that fine-grained urbanism makes for better street experiences, it is common to try to impose it on new developments. Cities will say, "Hey, I know that you have a big, wide, shallow retail space on the ground floor of your building, but can you chop it up into smaller, fine-grained spaces such that they all become totally unleasable?" (I half kid. See here for some context.)
The result:
To be clear, I am in no way picking on this development. As a rule, I don't do that sort of thing on this blog. Development is hard. I also like it. I just think it's perhaps the clearest example of what all urban-minded planners and developers are trying in earnest to do, and that is to create coarse-grained urbanism masquerading as fine-grained urbanism. The architectural rhythm of the storefronts matches the existing context, but the scale of the retailers may not.
And that's okay. This is the reality of the world today, and modern retailers want what they want. I'm also a believer in the power of free markets. But to this same end, I want to point out something that is exceedingly obvious: the best way to create fine-grained urbanism is to simply encourage small-scale development!
Every hurdle we erect only increases the incentive for developers to build bigger and coarser. It becomes the only way to underwrite profitable projects. The solution is to lower the barriers to development and, in turn, make small more feasible. Because if we do that, we already know it'll make our cities better. I think we'll also find that the market will respond with a different category of tenants and entrepreneurs.
Tomorrow, we'll talk about the specific ways in which Toronto and other cities could execute on this better.
The inverse was also true: people who relocated to less walkable cities tended to walk less. Again, on some level, this may seem intuitive, but it shows just how mutable our behaviours are. People will generally do what their built environments have been designed to accommodate — whether that's driving, cycling, or walking. Perhaps this also explains why, when I'm traveling, I want to buy that absurd article of clothing that I know I'll never wear back home in Toronto.
At the time, and in that environment, it feels appropriate.
Cover photo by Abby Rurenko on Unsplash
Map from Scientific American
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