Daily insights for city builders, delivered every morning at 6 AM ET. I’m Brandon Donnelly — a Toronto-based real estate developer and founder of Globizen. I’ve been writing here since 2013.

Tag: design

  • EVOQ Architecture completes first four-season solar greenhouse in Nunavik

    This is an important project worth sharing. Designed for Sirivik, EVOQ Architecture recently completed the first four-season solar greenhouse in Inukjuak, northern Quebec (Nunavik). Started in 2017, the initiative is part of a broader effort to strengthen local food autonomy and reduce dependency on shipments from southern Quebec. 

    The result is a vibrant community hub featuring a solar greenhouse, a hydroponic growing container, a commercial kitchen, and a gathering space for cultural activities. The glazed, pink volume also serves as a fun visual landmark within the village, symbolizing food resilience, social development, and the autonomy of northern communities. 

    I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never traveled this far north in our country, but it sits high on my list and I hope to visit soon.


    Media Source: v2com

    Architecture: EVOQ Architecture

    Photography: Maxime Brouillet

  • How cities change their minds

    Toronto, like all great cities, is in constant change and transition. I did a search through my blog archive this morning (okay, AI did) and I found it telling to see the things I was writing about and advocating for in the early days, some 10 years ago.

    We used to talk about eradicating parking minimums, and it was a novelty whenever a new project was built with zero spaces. But now we don’t talk about that. Parking requirements? What are those? We let the market determine how much might be needed, if any at all.

    We also used to talk a lot about laneway housing — a lot. For decades, daring architects and urbanists were navigating labyrinthian land-use approvals to build the odd one for themselves. Oftentimes they were only permitted if a pre-existing coach house was already on the site. But as a rule, laneway houses were bad and not permitted.

    Critics were concerned that they would erode the fabric of our low-rise communities and overrun them with renters. I remember people telling me this to my face at committee meetings, and reading comments from folks who believed that laneways were unsavoury places, and so surely only questionable people would want to live in one.

    Fast forward to today, and laneway and garden suites are standard practice across Toronto. They are no longer novel. They’re just part of the housing supply that Toronto now builds. In fact, in many new housing projects, they are the most desirable suite on the property.

    Shifting scales, I also remember the challenges that the team initially faced in getting One Delisle approved at the intersection of Yonge & St. Clair. At 155m, it was the tallest development approval at the time, and it’s currently the tallest constructed building in the submarket.

    One of the criticisms was that it was not in keeping with the scale of the office buildings constructed at and around the intersection between the 1960s and the early 1980s. But is that where the line should be drawn? Let’s not forget that before its post-war development boom, Yonge & St. Clair was a predominantly low-rise area. Surely this jump in scale provoked similar concerns.

    The planning deal that was struck over the last development cycle was that low-rise neighbourhoods would go largely untouched and that density would be concentrated around transit stations and in specific nodes. These nodes were the housing supply outlets. The inverse would have been to redevelop our low-rise neighbourhoods.

    Today, the only comments I hear about One Delisle’s height are that it’s not tall enough given its beautiful architecture. Opinions clearly evolve, and sometimes the things we’re unsure about aren’t so bad after all. In fact, sometimes they can become a defining characteristic of a place.

  • The recurring promise and resistance of prefab housing

    It’s important to always remember that the idea of prefabricated housing has been around for a very long time, and yet its history is perhaps best described as a recurring cycle of revolutionary promise versus structural resistance.

    Some markets, such as Sweden and Japan, have managed to find success, with the majority of their low-rise housing now industrialized or at least involving factory-made components. But in many, or most, other markets, the prefab landscape remains checkered with bankruptcies.

    I was reminded of this when I watched this video about the 22 Parkside house in London by Richard and Su Rogers. Originally designed in 1967 for Richard’s parents, the house used prefabricated elements, such as simple steel frames and bus windows, with the hope that it might serve as a solution to Britain’s housing crisis.

    Richard jokes in the video that it never happened, but it remains a seminal modernist house nonetheless. (I love the yellow frames.) This problem is not as easy to solve as it may seem, because it’s not just a design and engineering problem.

  • The empty icon

    This week at Paris Fashion Week, Saint Laurent’s creative director Anthony Vaccarello presented an open-air show in front of the Eiffel Tower that is widely rumoured to be his last show at the fashion house. (Too bad.) The set was opulent cinema. Everything was gilded — in an elegant way, not the gaudy Trump way — including the clothes themselves.

    The overall set was intended to pay homage to the historic ballroom of the Hôtel InterContinental, where Yves Saint Laurent himself used to famously present his collections. And suspended above the runway was an enormous gold chandelier that effectively created an “urban ceiling” for the space. Here’s the full show if this at all interests you.

    But this is not a post about fashion.

    One of the things that stood out to me was the obvious relationship between the glittering Eiffel Tower and the enormous gold chandelier. It’s a good example of how you don’t necessarily need walls to frame an urban space. The hanging chandelier was all that was needed to turn a public plaza into a private salon.

    At the same time, I was struck by how sexy and glamorous Paris always manages to make what is effectively a piece of raw industrial architecture. The Eiffel Tower was immediately popular with the general public at the 1889 Exposition Universelle because of its awe-inspiring stature, but elites derided it for its lack of Parisian taste. So how then did it become so synonymous with French high culture?

    One theory is that it’s because the tower is generally useless.

    In 1964, French theorist Roland Barthes wrote an essay where he argued that the Eiffel Tower became the ultimate global symbol precisely because it means basically nothing in itself, which is why it can be so easily imbued with other symbolic meaning. The Louvre is art. The Arc de Triomphe commemorates a military victory. And Notre-Dame is religion.

    The Eiffel Tower, by contrast, is empty. It’s more or less a hollow skeleton of iron. Barthes called this an “empty signifier.” In other words, it’s a blank canvas — one that has come to symbolize everything from 19th-century industrial progress to 21st-century luxury fashion. Its greatest strength may be its uselessness.

    It can be hard to predict when something might resonate in the way that the Eiffel Tower has. The so-called cultural elites certainly didn’t get it at the time. But cities desperately need these urban symbols, and what they come to mean ultimately depends on the urban context and positioning we choose to create. It’s malleable.

    Take, for instance, the CN Tower in Toronto. There is nothing inherent to its concrete form that prevents it from symbolizing high design or civic sophistication in the way the Eiffel Tower does. The difference is in the curation: at its base, we put an aquarium; Paris brings out gilded Saint Laurent.

    Saint Laurent’s show this week was equal parts marketing for the fashion house and for the city.

  • Housing on the Line

    One of the fundamental truths about cities is that transportation and land-use planning are integral to one another. The most successful cities understand this and build density on top of transit, and build transit where density can and will go. See, once again, the Tokyo model. It’s for this reason that I think the Superkül-led conceptual project called Housing on the Line is an important one for Toronto. While the projects are speculative, they remind us that many of our transit stations are severely undeveloped, including ones we’ve only recently built. Why?

    Description:

    Housing on the Line, a conceptual project and architectural exhibition conceived and initiated by Superkül, will open to the public next Thursday, September 24th in Liberty Village. Developed in collaboration with six other firms – COMN Architects, Dubbeldam Architecture + Design, Gabriel Fain Architects, StudioAC, Studio VAARO, and Suulin – the project proposes speculative designs that integrate multi-unit residential buildings with smaller existing subway station sites along TTC Line 2 Bloor-Danforth. Each firm’s proposal treats a different subway station along Line 2 as a creative canvas for imagining innovative typologies and context-appropriate design that delivers human-scale character, enhanced amenities, and community connectivity.

    Details:

    Housing on the Line | Opening Reception
    Date: Thursday, September 24, 2026
    Time: 6:00–9:30 pm
    Location: The Bakery, 2 Fraser Ave, Toronto
    RSVP: adele@superkul.ca

    If you can’t make the opening reception next Thursday, you can also visit between September 25-27, during the hours of 10am-5pm.


    Project credits (in order): Superkül, Studio VAARO, Gabriel Fain Architects, Dubbeldam Architecture + Design

    Image credits: All renderings by Aron Lorincz Ateliers

  • Raw meets refined

    I love how Saint Laurent’s creative director, Anthony Vaccarello, has taken a form of brutalism — corduroy-imprinted concrete and generally raw and exposed materials — and elevated it to high fashion. It’s a perfect example of “raw meets refined.” And you’ll find this approach in its stores all around the world, including in Toronto on Bloor Street. For me, it’s also a great microcosm of Paris. This is a city with a deep, rich history, but one that isn’t afraid to disrupt that history and look forward when it makes sense to do so.

  • Window-to-wall ratios and density in Paris

    One of the reasons Paris’s built form works so well is that the buildings aren’t all glass. The window-to-wall ratios afford a degree of privacy, despite the high densities and minimal separation distances. Imagine how different the city would feel if this wasn’t the case.

  • How AI is transforming architectural workflows

    I recently came across an online post criticizing a Canadian Tire ad that was very clearly created by AI. The text was illegible (most AI models aren’t excellent at text). The model’s face was plasticky. And everyone was piling on, saying things along the lines of: “Shame on Canadian Tire. They should have hired a Canadian model, photographer, and graphic designer.”

    While I can appreciate where this is all coming from, the reality is that the cat is out of the bag. As I’ve said before: What is real anymore? It doesn’t matter. We all have to adapt. I have, for example, noticed a dramatic change in the architectural workflow on our projects. We are now seeing an infinite number of visualizations throughout the design process, and that is making it a lot easier to iterate and refine ideas. So much for the quick blue foam models.

    On some projects, where we have a collaborative working relationship with the design team, we now send AI renderings back and forth in group chats: “I’ve changed the material on these soffits and modified the brick coursing. What do you think?” None of it is perfect. But neither were the physical models and other tools that we used to rely on to test ideas.

    If anything, it’s overwhelming in the best possible way. The creative possibilities are endless.

  • Fast fashion is embracing luxury placemaking

    The future of physical retail continues to evolve.

    Recently, we spoke about LVMH’s approach of spending billions on some of the world’s most prime real estate. But the focus on human-centred destination experiences isn’t unique to the luxury segment. Case in point: Zara just opened a new flagship store in Shanghai designed by AIM Architecture (which appropriately stands for Authentic Immersive Matters).

    Located on a major commercial street, the store looks like this and can be generally described as follows:

    • Positioned on a prime open-air main street (versus an enclosed mall).
    • Large amphitheatre-style seating on the ground floor that connects the store to the street and encourages people to linger.
    • Beautiful interiors with not a lot of clothes on display — it has more of a gallery feel.

    It is a clear example of fast fashion adopting luxury placemaking and brand immersion. The point is not to bombard you with clothing options. The point is a human-centred space that gives you an opportunity to experience the Zara brand and then decide if its products might help you better define your sense of self. It’s a media channel, giving you something you can’t get online.

  • Does design and brand equity sell?

    It is a core belief of mine that design and brand equity create value in real estate. But to what extent is this true? And how much should a developer invest in these things? Is it worth spending a 3-5% licensing fee on a cool brand? Will the price premiums really be there? Here are some ways to think about it.

    One, good design can just mean good taste and, as we talked about yesterday, giving a shit. This doesn’t need to cost any more than bad design; you just have to put in the effort. This is the low-hanging fruit to be seized.

    Two, good design solves problems. And if you’re solving problems that increase returns and development yield, promote sales or leasing velocity, and/or lower operating expenses, then you have tangible value. You can start to figure out the return on your investment, and that helps with decision-making.

    Three, good design can also just mean cool and luxurious materials and details. Here, you’ve got the highest cost of our three options, but it may be important in order to differentiate your offering, drive scarcity value, and create prestige. This one can be harder to evaluate quantitatively.

    All of these approaches ultimately intertwine with the overall brand of a project and of the developer, and that’s the next piece for us to discuss.

    The concept of brand equity has always been fascinating to me because on some level, it’s simply the premium people are willing to pay “for a name” because of the perception they have of that name. It is, by one definition, the “sum of consumers’ thoughts, feelings, and attitudes about your brand that influences their willingness to pay for your product.”

    The challenge with brand equity is that it takes a long time to build, which is one of the reasons developers often borrow it (i.e., license it) from established consumer-facing brands to use on their projects. The other reason is that real estate tends to be local and slow-moving, so it’s objectively difficult to build a global brand.

    Design and brand work together. If you’re developing an Aman Residence, the brand will dictate its standards so you don’t negatively impact the equity it has built up over time. But now we get back to our original question: To what extent does it make sense to invest in design and brand?

    In economics, the definition of a luxury good or superior good is that demand increases more than proportionally as incomes rise. What this effectively means is that when times are good and people are feeling wealthy, they tend to overspend on luxury goods. And when times are not so good, they will often underspend on luxury goods and focus on normal or necessary goods.

    What this means for real estate is that there is an opportunity to capture additional value through investments in design and brand when the overall market supports it. But during downturns, this pricing premium may feel like it disappears. Still, prudent investments in design and brand can lead to selling or leasing when the rest of the market isn’t. Your investments bought liquidity.

    When Steve Jobs launched the original NeXT computer, he overshot the market by a wide margin, and it was a commercial failure. And when he launched the iPhone, critics similarly said it was too expensive. Apple ended up having to lower its initial pricing slightly, but the product turned out to be exactly what consumers wanted.

    Finding the right sweet spot depends on local market conditions and the point you’re at in the development cycle. This involves as much art as it does science. But perhaps the above framework can start to help you think through the options.