Sometimes I am an advocate for big, bold urban change. This is where I tend to be closely aligned with urbanists like Joe Berridge, co-founder of Urban Strategies. (We sat on a panel together this past October at the Council for Canadian Urbanism Forum, and I found myself agreeing with him on this point.)
For example, last week I tweeted that the edges of High Park would be better off looking like Central Park in New York. By this I meant that High Park is an urban park with a major subway line running on top of it — we should not be shy about embracing a more urban future.
This stretch of Bloor Street, at the north edge of the park, has got to be one of the dullest stretches of street along the entire line. It's hardly fitting for Toronto's most famous urban park.
Some of you didn't like this tweet. Serendipitously, it also happened to align with a heated community meeting for a major two-tower rental development in High Park North. But this project is one block from a subway station, and it should be approved. The unfortunate reality is that we have underdeveloped much of the land around our transit infrastructure.
At the very same time, I am a strong advocate for small-scale, incremental change. We've spoken a lot about this topic over the years, particularly in the context of Tokyo. Japan is renowned for its flexible approach to zoning and for the way that it allows small, ground-up interventions. The result is an approach to urbanism that is often referred to as emergent.
A good example of this approach is the work of Japanese developer Staple. Staple calls itself a "soft developer" and what that translates into is a bottom-up model that is focused on regenerating local economies. (This is arguably even more important in the context of Japan, where a shrinking population is creating urban decline in many communities.)
To achieve this, they rely on "soft infrastructure" such as local shops and grocers, hotels, housing, workspaces, restaurants, regenerative agriculture, lifelong learning centers, and more. In other words, they are focused on the nuts and bolts that make for thriving local communities and that can be easily missed if you're too focused on the bigger picture.
One recently completed project is Soil Nihonbashi in Tokyo's Nihonbashi-Kabutocho neighborhood. Designed by architect Kiyoaki Takeda, the project opened in September and includes a coffee shop, cocktail bar, dim sum spot (and other dining options), co-working space, parklet (bakery), rooftop agricultural garden, and 14-room hotel.
It's the kind of hotel that global brands tend to avoid like the plague. It's too small. Too many diseconomies of scale. But it's exactly the kind of hotel and mix of uses that is wonderful for local communities. Think of what the Drake Hotel here in Toronto did for West Queen West when it opened back in the day.
All of this brings me back to something I have said before. A good recipe for city building is to be stubborn on vision, but flexible on the details. Cities are at their best when you allow and empower bottom-up change. Get out of the way. There's no way that top-down planning will get it all right. So if you can combine bold vision with flexible implementation, well then, you've got the secret sauce.
Cover photo from architect Kiyoaki Takeda
We've been talking a lot about autonomous vehicles, and in particular Waymo, on this blog. In my opinion, the safety records — which Waymo has published after driving more than 100 million driverless miles — already suggest that none of us should be driving cars anymore. Some or many of you will disagree with this statement, but there's a reason why car crashes are the number two cause of death for children and young adults in the US.
So not only is this a tech breakthrough and a profound city-building shift, but it's also a public health breakthrough. Here's a recent opinion piece published in the New York Times by Dr. Jonathan Slotkin, the vice chair of neurosurgery at the Geisinger Health System in Pennsylvania. I found this statement particularly interesting:
In medical research, there’s a practice of ending a study early when the results are too striking to ignore. We stop when there is unexpected harm. We also stop for overwhelming benefit, when a treatment is working so well that it would be unethical to continue giving anyone a placebo. When an intervention works this clearly, you change what you do.
Now the imperative:
There’s a public health imperative to quickly expand the adoption of autonomous vehicles. More than 39,000 Americans died
Sometimes I am an advocate for big, bold urban change. This is where I tend to be closely aligned with urbanists like Joe Berridge, co-founder of Urban Strategies. (We sat on a panel together this past October at the Council for Canadian Urbanism Forum, and I found myself agreeing with him on this point.)
For example, last week I tweeted that the edges of High Park would be better off looking like Central Park in New York. By this I meant that High Park is an urban park with a major subway line running on top of it — we should not be shy about embracing a more urban future.
This stretch of Bloor Street, at the north edge of the park, has got to be one of the dullest stretches of street along the entire line. It's hardly fitting for Toronto's most famous urban park.
Some of you didn't like this tweet. Serendipitously, it also happened to align with a heated community meeting for a major two-tower rental development in High Park North. But this project is one block from a subway station, and it should be approved. The unfortunate reality is that we have underdeveloped much of the land around our transit infrastructure.
At the very same time, I am a strong advocate for small-scale, incremental change. We've spoken a lot about this topic over the years, particularly in the context of Tokyo. Japan is renowned for its flexible approach to zoning and for the way that it allows small, ground-up interventions. The result is an approach to urbanism that is often referred to as emergent.
A good example of this approach is the work of Japanese developer Staple. Staple calls itself a "soft developer" and what that translates into is a bottom-up model that is focused on regenerating local economies. (This is arguably even more important in the context of Japan, where a shrinking population is creating urban decline in many communities.)
To achieve this, they rely on "soft infrastructure" such as local shops and grocers, hotels, housing, workspaces, restaurants, regenerative agriculture, lifelong learning centers, and more. In other words, they are focused on the nuts and bolts that make for thriving local communities and that can be easily missed if you're too focused on the bigger picture.
One recently completed project is Soil Nihonbashi in Tokyo's Nihonbashi-Kabutocho neighborhood. Designed by architect Kiyoaki Takeda, the project opened in September and includes a coffee shop, cocktail bar, dim sum spot (and other dining options), co-working space, parklet (bakery), rooftop agricultural garden, and 14-room hotel.
It's the kind of hotel that global brands tend to avoid like the plague. It's too small. Too many diseconomies of scale. But it's exactly the kind of hotel and mix of uses that is wonderful for local communities. Think of what the Drake Hotel here in Toronto did for West Queen West when it opened back in the day.
All of this brings me back to something I have said before. A good recipe for city building is to be stubborn on vision, but flexible on the details. Cities are at their best when you allow and empower bottom-up change. Get out of the way. There's no way that top-down planning will get it all right. So if you can combine bold vision with flexible implementation, well then, you've got the secret sauce.
Cover photo from architect Kiyoaki Takeda
We've been talking a lot about autonomous vehicles, and in particular Waymo, on this blog. In my opinion, the safety records — which Waymo has published after driving more than 100 million driverless miles — already suggest that none of us should be driving cars anymore. Some or many of you will disagree with this statement, but there's a reason why car crashes are the number two cause of death for children and young adults in the US.
So not only is this a tech breakthrough and a profound city-building shift, but it's also a public health breakthrough. Here's a recent opinion piece published in the New York Times by Dr. Jonathan Slotkin, the vice chair of neurosurgery at the Geisinger Health System in Pennsylvania. I found this statement particularly interesting:
In medical research, there’s a practice of ending a study early when the results are too striking to ignore. We stop when there is unexpected harm. We also stop for overwhelming benefit, when a treatment is working so well that it would be unethical to continue giving anyone a placebo. When an intervention works this clearly, you change what you do.
Now the imperative:
There’s a public health imperative to quickly expand the adoption of autonomous vehicles. More than 39,000 Americans died
Dr. Slotkin goes on to talk about some of the cities that are pushing back against AV adoption, or simply erecting barriers, namely Washington, D.C. and Boston. That's too bad. This is a decision that can be easily guided by data: Which is the safest option for the greatest number of people? Just do that. Dr. Slotkin gets it right: "policymakers need to stop fighting this transformation and start planning for it."
This map, showing the right-of-way widths of Toronto's major streets, is one of my favorite maps. It tells you so much about the scale of the city.
Even if you were entirely unfamiliar with Toronto, you could look at this map and gather from the width and spacing of its major arteries that the orange streets (20 meters) represent the oldest parts of Toronto and that the red streets (36 meters) represent the newer and more suburban parts of the city.
It's also interesting to think about this map in the context of other cities. Manhattan, for example, has a famous grid plan that generally contains north-south avenues and east-west streets. Most, but not all, of the avenues are 100 feet wide, or ~30 meters. And most, but not all, of the streets are 60 feet wide, or ~18 meters.
I tried to get Gemini to create a New York version of the above map using the same color legend, but it hallucinated and didn't give me what I wanted. So you'll have to use your imagination. Manhattan's avenues typically correspond to the dark blue lines on Toronto's map, and its streets are even narrower than the orange lines.
If you were to overlay these two maps at the same scale, you'd see at least two things: one, Toronto doesn't have the same kind of broad avenues cutting through its most urban areas (meaning it's harder to move cars around) and, two, Manhattan has a much thicker web of urban streets. Consider the density that exists on Manhattan's 18-meter-wide streets.
Toronto did not lay out its urban grid ahead of time like New York did with its Commissioners' Plan in 1811. In many ways, Toronto feels more like an accidental global city. But that doesn't mean we can't look at our urban grid today and decide what it wants to be for the next 200 years. I think that would be a good idea.
Cover photo by Tianlei Wu on Unsplash
Dr. Slotkin goes on to talk about some of the cities that are pushing back against AV adoption, or simply erecting barriers, namely Washington, D.C. and Boston. That's too bad. This is a decision that can be easily guided by data: Which is the safest option for the greatest number of people? Just do that. Dr. Slotkin gets it right: "policymakers need to stop fighting this transformation and start planning for it."
This map, showing the right-of-way widths of Toronto's major streets, is one of my favorite maps. It tells you so much about the scale of the city.
Even if you were entirely unfamiliar with Toronto, you could look at this map and gather from the width and spacing of its major arteries that the orange streets (20 meters) represent the oldest parts of Toronto and that the red streets (36 meters) represent the newer and more suburban parts of the city.
It's also interesting to think about this map in the context of other cities. Manhattan, for example, has a famous grid plan that generally contains north-south avenues and east-west streets. Most, but not all, of the avenues are 100 feet wide, or ~30 meters. And most, but not all, of the streets are 60 feet wide, or ~18 meters.
I tried to get Gemini to create a New York version of the above map using the same color legend, but it hallucinated and didn't give me what I wanted. So you'll have to use your imagination. Manhattan's avenues typically correspond to the dark blue lines on Toronto's map, and its streets are even narrower than the orange lines.
If you were to overlay these two maps at the same scale, you'd see at least two things: one, Toronto doesn't have the same kind of broad avenues cutting through its most urban areas (meaning it's harder to move cars around) and, two, Manhattan has a much thicker web of urban streets. Consider the density that exists on Manhattan's 18-meter-wide streets.
Toronto did not lay out its urban grid ahead of time like New York did with its Commissioners' Plan in 1811. In many ways, Toronto feels more like an accidental global city. But that doesn't mean we can't look at our urban grid today and decide what it wants to be for the next 200 years. I think that would be a good idea.
Cover photo by Tianlei Wu on Unsplash
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