Brand Avenue

Americana

The NYTimes profiles a new shopping district in Glendale, California, on -- pregnant pause -- Brand Boulevard:

The Americana at Brand rises from its 15.5-acre lot in downtown Glendale, Calif., like the setting for a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald. From my seat aboard the vintage-style trolley that makes a circuit around this $400 million outdoor shopping mall and residential community, I glide down what reminds me of Rodeo Drive to Rush Street in Chicago, skirt the dancing fountain in Vegas, turn onto Newbury Street in Boston and end up in New Orleans, each stop announced by the cheerful ringing of the conductor’s bell. The Americana, where I’m spending a weekend, is the newly minted brainchild of the California megadeveloper Rick Caruso, the force behind the Grove in Los Angeles and a family of other open-air retail developments that turn up the design volume on the dreary shopping mall experience, past theme-park kitsch, all the way to something sublime, say, a Diamond as Big as the Ritz.

Not just another "lifestyle center" (others covered earlier here, here, and here) Americana is instead the fullest manifestation of the "alternative realities" Caruso has created:

At the Grove, at Third and Fairfax, Caruso and his in-house team perfected their formula....More than just a builder with a dramatic flair and a nostalgia for small-town America, Caruso is a producer of alternative realities--where Sinatra is still young, service employees all wear crisply tailored uniforms and the clock stops every 30 minutes, right in sync with a mesmerizing water-jet show at the fountain.

A carefully calibrated merger between community center and consumer fantasy, Americana at Brand exudes modern sensibilities (yoga on the lawn in front of Tiffany, above) while evoking historical roots (the landscaping includes more than 700 mature trees, to lend a sense of permanence).  There, Caruso is aiming for nothing less than the gratification of the human spirit, and the accommodation of a fuller range of human experience. One wonders how "alternative" the reality is, if at all:

"The whole idea isn't just to shop or eat or go to a movie," Caruso explains. The appeal of his developments, he insists, has more to do with recovering that which is lost in Southern California's car culture--the sense of community that comes from street life. "There's a desperate desire to actually see people. We don't get that in L.A. When I'm in New York walking down Fifth Avenue or Madison Avenue, there's an energy to it. You feel like you're alive."

A wedding party at Americana, below.

Americana will have full-time residents, too: within the development are 238 rental units and 100 condominiums. Earlier this summer, a LA Times reporter stayed overnight in one of the units, and met some of the folks who live there. Notable in their comments is the sense of how thoroughly the resident experience has been considered:

"I didn't want to move in. I thought it would be too loud, too crazy. But I love it," says Levon Ketsoyan, who lives at the Americana with his wife, Marina, and 18-month-old daughter, Tatiana. The three of them are eating pizza and watching the Lakers collapse on a flat-screen TV in the common area of the Marc building, as other residents trickle in after work.

It's an eclectic group, eventually maybe 25 people in all. These are the pioneers, the folks willing to give this place a try when no one was certain it would work. So far, they rave about the friendliness of the place, the activities, the concierge service. "It feels like you're on vacation here," says one.

"They have Mommy and Me classes every Tuesday," says Tatiana's mom. "She has met lots of kids her age." There are plenty of activities. The gigantic Barnes & Noble offers a writers group. There is yoga in the park. Live music fills the quad all weekend.

The residents' enthusiasm contrasts sharply with the melodramatic tone of the NYTimes reporter, begging the question: what is authentic here? It's reminiscent of the motto of one well-known reality television show: at what point does a place cease being artificial and start "getting real"? Does it actually matter?

In the evening...it's easy to appreciate the extravagant dream behind the Americana at Brand....And when the fountain comes to life for Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World," I think of Fitzgerald's observation that America is "a willingness of the heart." The Americana at Brand is not for everyone, and it may take an economic miracle to sustain its current level of surface polish. But there is no denying the power of Caruso's lavishly constructed fantasy of home, even if it never feels true to life.

Hometown Flavor

Which domestic appliance is largely responsible for the growth of Houston? What makes Seattle so rainy? What holds Philadelphia's emblematic cheesesteak sandwich together?

Why, the air conditioner, the Olympic Mountains, and emulsifiers, of course. The authors of a short article in Discover find that some unlikely candidates play strong roles in the defining character of a number of cities. (Below, Geno's Steaks in South Philadelphia, via Flickr...despite my affection for Lee's.)

Speaking of food: I just finished reading, and can highly recommend The Taste of Place: A Cultural Journey into Terroir, wherein author Amy Trubek explores ideas of terroir from an American perspective. A wide-ranging meditation on food production and consumption that spans history, geography, biology, and culture, the book offers both analysis on current ideas of "local" food as well as predictions for the future on how notions of place are bought and sold (and eaten and drank).

The book is a great primer to anyone who ever feels baffled at the supermarket, reading packaging that details the relative value of a product's origins, production, or benefits. As Trubek points out, the knowability of a product is often frustratingly elusive:

From the point of view of the consumer, not every person who drinks wine or eats cheese, bread, or...maple syrup knows much about the origins of these foods or beverages. And for the 98 percent of Americans who do not farm for a living, and especially the 55 percent who live in urban areas, how can they know much about our cheese, chocolate, coffee, and wine? We have plenty of information--we get it through advertising, word of mouth, custom, diet and health experts, cookbooks, and magazines--but almost all of our knowledge is abstract, a series of received recommendations, guidelines, or sales pitches. Our every day lived experience, meanwhile, does not include farming, or having conversations with farmers, or for many, even seeing a farm....This paradox--the chasm between what we know for ourselves about food and wine and what we must be told--lies at the core of any contemporary effort to build the taste of place.

That line of thought speaks to placemaking itself, and the relative values placed on site and context during the design process. It's also valuable food for thought regarding marketing of place in a global economy. Place is necessarily tied to a specific geographic location, but the products that evoke that place are not. What is the value of local versus global, and what are the possibilities for expression of that relationship, analagous to a food's flavor--materials, spatial relationships, organization?

Designing Women

Armed with the knowledge that women make up to 80% of consumer purchases, Texas developer Terry Montesi decided to approach the design of a new shopping center differently:

"I was involved in multiple design meetings where we'd all get together to do the preliminary design of a development," he explained. "We'd have 20 people in a meeting, and sometimes there'd be one woman, sometimes none. It didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out something was broken with that approach."

So for his next project, Mr. Montesi did something radically different. He made a point of involving women -- all sorts of women, from different backgrounds in the community -- at all levels of the design, construction and even landscaping of his next project.

The result of the approach is Watters Creek, a mixed-use center in Allen, TX guided by the opinions of 23 women from the local community.

They acted as a focus group and were consulted during the planning and early construction phase. And what they said was, to Mr. Montesi, a bit of a surprise.

How does this shopping center differ from other similar "lifestyle centers"? Where is a specifically female influence seen? Where is the line between marketing strategy and the attempt to cater to a specific mall-going population? Or is it both?

"The women said they wanted the place to feel more like a resort," said Mr. Montesi. "They wanted to feel like they were on vacation." That's one reason why Watters Creek was conceived as a "retail resort" which, when it is fully operational, will feature restaurants, green space, a hotel, residences, entertainment areas and office space in addition to stores. The women also told designers they were more interested in practical amenities -- good washrooms and safe parking, for example -- than in impressive-looking storefronts.

Of the requests that the group made of Montesi's project, the most unusual were a request for a fire pit; also notable was an additional emphasis placed on landscaping:

When he asked the focus group about it, their response was telling: They said it was not the warmth from the fire they were after, though it might be welcome on cool days, but the way the firepit looked and especially how it made them feel.

The women surveyed did not request that the shopping center broadcast symbols of femininity to them. Their concerns instead revolved around comfort and utility:

For example, in response to the women who were consulted, more money was spent on landscaping than is typical for such a project, and less on making the buildings look impressive. "They said: 'We don't much care about the buildings, we care about the landscaping.'" All of which was a revelation to Mr. Montesi, who concluded that attracting a female shopper "definitely wasn't about painting the buildings in pastels. It wasn't about making the buildings look feminine, it was about making the place more friendly to the women who use it."

Below, several photos of Watters Creek.

 

The Fat Map

An essay in Building Design discusses the recent release of the Fat Map, a graphic of England, Scotland and Wales comprised of data from the patient loads of the country's doctors, linking geography to rates of obesity nationwide. The author of the piece, Carolyn Steel, wonders if the design of Britain itself is to blame:

The idea that there is a link between our bodies and physical environment is hardly new, but as last year’s government Foresight report on obesity noted, the relationship between the two is no longer in sync. Thanks to “technological revolution… outstripping human evolution”, it argued, Britain has evolved into an “obesogenic environment” in which, for an increasing number of people, “weight gain is the inevitable — and largely involuntary — consequence of exposure to a modern lifestyle”. Obesity, in other words, is now passive, an inescapable consequence of merely existing. But if our environment is to blame, could we design ourselves out of the mess?

Below, the UK Fat Map (via, click to enlarge).

Approaching the linkage between geography and consumption from an economic angle, Steel proposes that the map is ultimately about class and poverty:

Of course, what the fat map really shows is those parts of the country where one is most likely to be born into relative deprivation, where the deadly hand of “passive obesity” is most likely to strike....

Obesity is the bodily manifestation of society — or rather of our place in it. Those who are well educated, who can afford healthy food, who have the leisure to play sports, to shop and cook for fun, suffer from it far less. The trick would be to extend those rights to everyone. Job opportunities, good schools, safe places to play, easy access to fresh food, sports facilities, and well designed and maintained neighbourhoods are what is needed.

That is why obesity lies within the remit of government — and of architects and planners too. It is linked to opportunity, inclusiveness, aspiration. Obesity is not a matter of individual choice.

Steel's argument finds its echo in a San Francisco Chronicle article from last year, by Carol Lloyd, about Bay Area residents reflecting on how relocation within the metropolitan area has affected their health:

Of course, ever since Jane Jacobs declared her love for Greenwich Village in "The Death and Life of Great American Cities" and made it an icon of the new urbanism, planners have been touting the pleasures and practicalities of walkable communities....[but] with a generation raised in sprawl, eating fast food and driving long hours, is it realistic to assume that people's behavior will change if the environment changes? Some studies suggest no -- that less-active people will naturally choose communities that allow them to be less active. However, another study showed 30 percent of the respondents reporting that they wanted to live in walkable neighborhoods but were unable to afford them.

The definition of "quality of life" as embodied by the suburb thus morphs to acknowledge economics and health in a new way. Lloyd points out the irony here:

Ironically, the suburbs were created as protection from the vicissitudes of our older urban environs. In the dense urban areas of the 19th and early 20th centuries, homes sat next to slaughterhouses and tanneries next to cafes.

"Everyone knew someone who had had tuberculosis, and water- and food-borne illnesses were commonplace, so people understood how our environment affected our health," says explains Richard Jackson, a public health expert who teaches in the Department of Environmental Science at UC Berkeley and ran the Department of Public Health under Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger until 2005. Jackson says the attempt to create safety and convenience has spawned its own set of problems: "Now we have obesity, diabetes, cancer and joint problems, instead of dysentery. We're richer than before, but things don't feel right. We work harder, we drive farther, we're fatter, we're more depressed. Our lifestyle is making us more unhealthy, and a lot of that is based on our built environment."

But what about the "social engineering" vis-a-vis walkable urbanism, as Steel mentions? Could it be simply that the thinking that drove urban development for the last 50-75 years needs updating, for the overarching health and economic well-being of all? Furthermore: in a market economy, how can the affordability of a premium product be ensured?

Even to ask the question raises the spectre of social engineering, yet there is no doubt design plays a key role in the way we lead our lives. The Foresight report noted how the “walkability” of cities can be improved by mixed-use planning and greater connectivity, and how the “safety, greenery, aesthetics and upkeep of neighbourhoods” can promote activity. Yet such moves barely scratch the surface, while to go further — to effectively design cities like human hamster wheels — would surely stray the wrong side of an invisible line.

Related (thanks, Debby); earlier: Our Cities, Ourselves; You are Where You Eat.

Welcome and Thanks

Welcome, Architect magazine readers! And to the staff of Architect, many thanks as well.

For a sampling of recent posts on this site, personal favorites and otherwise, use this list as your guide. For those unfamiliar with Architect, here's a few articles from recent months that are definitely worth your attention:

- With coffee giant Starbucks at economic loose ends and wondering how to remake itself, five teams of designers contribute their visions for the coffee shop of the future to the July 2008 issue. What does the "third place" of the 21st century look like?

At left: the logo of "*$," Pentagram Architects' vision for the future of the chain, which the firm imagines as no longer "homemade and local" but rather streamlined, "efficient and universal:"

No more cups and mugs for sale, no more music CDs (which was and should be a separate business), no more coffee machines and bagged beans, no more decorative bric-a-brac. Just coffee, food, service, newspapers and the aroma of coffee.

All the accessories belong online, not in a store, which can now be smaller, more efficient and act like a food space, not a sales space.

In the end it’s a simple tale:

Like Elvis, who was distracted by ten years of movies and other indulgences, Starbucks has lost its soul. Like Prince, who even stopped performing in order to regain legal control of his music, Starbucks needs to reinvent itself to remain true to the original mission: a great product served in a dedicated environment to a loyal customer.

More here.

- The June 2008 issue's visit to the Arizona town of Buckeye, a Phoenix suburb projected to grow from its current population of 25,000 to 400,000 in the next 25 years. The town is fighting to grow itself sensibly, despite the breakneck pace and the unbelievable scale:

The town hasn't a moment to lose. Last year, Forbes magazine listed Buckeye as the second-fastest-growing suburb in the nation (after Lincoln, Calif., outside Sacramento). Between 2000 and 2005, Buckeye's population increased by nearly 200 percent, to 25,406....Over the past several years, the town of Buckeye has annexed 370 square miles of this land into its corporate limits, and its total planning area, which it intends to annex eventually, measures 598 square miles, which is larger than Phoenix. From its northernmost corporate limit to its southernmost, Buckeye runs about 45 miles long. From east to west, it is 24 miles wide.

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Above: Buckeye, at the edge of the Phoenix metro. There is a strong aesthetic dimension running through the planning of all that space:

The real estate frenzy has slowed down somewhat lately in Buckeye. A new Target and Home Depot near Verrado are on hold. But a big retail hub, called Sundance Towne Center, has opened next to the new Sundance community along I-10 between Watson and Yuma roads. A 75-acre tract that Google's map shows as a graded site has a Wal-Mart, a Lowe's, a Linens 'n Things (the company filed for bankruptcy in April), two banks, an OfficeMax, a Peter Piper Pizza, a Brakes Plus, and an AutoZone.

People in Buckeye need this sort of stuff. (They also need police and fire protection in far-flung sections, which they are getting in a system of sturdy, temporary stations dotting the area.) The town wants them to have it but also wants to temper the way these businesses typically look, which is ugly. So the planners are putting their prerogatives in writing.

Last year, Buckeye's town council adopted a set of design rules for newly built commercial and industrial buildings. They're currently being refined to fit into the new development code. At heart, the rules are critical of common suburban shopping development. They tell developers to be nicer to the roadside, with more texture and articulation in their buildings than they usually offer, and to consider surrounding landscapes more carefully. There's a palette of approved materials—brick, stone, stucco, and wood, among others. The rules proscribe massive asphalt parking lots. They suggest that developers throw in some benches, kiosks, and trees and make their buildings look like something besides cash cows.

- In the March 2008 issue, noted architectural critic and author Joan Ockman chronicles the current wave of famous architects acting in masterplanning roles from New York to Abu Dhabi to Bulgaria, posing a crucial question: is a new form of urbanism, touched by the celebrity of famous architects such as Frank Gehry and Daniel Libeskind, emerging?

Famous architects are no longer just in the business of designing signature buildings. They are also increasingly functioning as megascale planners, hand in glove with the biggest developers in the world and with local municipalities, usually with both....Historically at odds, architecture and urban planning have found a rapprochement today on the terrain of high-profile, large-scale real estate development.

This is the "Bilbao effect" at an grossly inflated scale, Ockman argues.

In this context, the current trend toward rebranding celebrity architects as planners appears as both an evolution of the Bilbao effect, expanded to a new scale, and also a departure from it. From the developer's point of view, the decision to use “ ‘design architects' instead of ‘developer architects,' “ as Ratner has put it of his decision to engage Gehry for the Brooklyn project, genuinely seems to be motivated to some extent, at least in the most laudable cases, by a desire to overcome past mediocrity. Above all, though, it is a bid for name-brand cachet and market differentiation.

Read on.