In America, we recoil from political elitism in Washington and state capitols. We resent that our elected and appointed leaders are not “just like us” that they seem to think they know more than us, that they hang out more with each other than with us. In the popular imagination, anyone can be president (or a senator or congressman) and therefore they should act accordingly, they should act like us. We are starting to feel the same about professionals, even doctors and attorneys, financiers, and university professors with tenure. Oddly, we don’t feel the same about actors and musicians and athletes. We readily accept their elitism. It seems the more formal the education the less regard afforded.
In 2006, nobody had an iPhone nor did anybody want one. In the 15 years since 1.9 billion iPhones have been sold, not only does everyone want one but no one can live without one. Witness Coca-Cola (zero sold in 1886; seven trillion sold in 2021), Levi’s jeans and Nike shoes, movies and television, the single-family house and two-car garage. What’s good business we are told? “Give them what they want, the customer is always right.” But do people really know what they want, or is it that they want what they know (or have been exposed to via advertisement)? It is the paradox of desire and satisfaction that the satisfaction (or “knowledge” as in Genesis) comes first then the desire, not the other way around. Just ask Steve Jobs or John Stith Pemberton.
When in the post-WWII years of the 20th century, the results of modern architecture had revealed the folly of our wholesale commitment to it coupled with our wholesale rejection of everything before it just as the commodification of building (“real estate development”) had secured its hegemonic grip on how things got designed and built in America (Rockefeller Center having been one of the last great urban design projects to escape the clenched fists and wooden noggins of its bankers and developers relatively unscathed, although narrowly—Hudson Yards clearly having not). By the time Jane Jacobs and her fans in city planning departments across the country had so contemptuously thrown architects under the bus, architects responded in a few ways, some defensively and defiantly, others apologetically and opportunistically.
By 1970, the guilt over what had in less than a half-century gone so terribly wrong combined with the disempowerment of the profession gave way in some quarters to a kind of throwing up of the hands or throwing in of the towel: “we have nothing to say and anyway no say, so let’s just give them what they want.” This translated into a kind of urban design more akin to carnival or festival design or no- or anti-design than anything resembling intentional urban design.
I experienced this first-hand as I entered architecture school in the late 1970’s. For the pleasure of four years of busting my ass to become an architect, I realized that just prior and around then ideologically demeaning books masquerading as humanistic archaeology such as “Architecture without Architects” (Rudolfsky) and algorithmic humanism “A Pattern Language“ (Alexander) had come out while pandering, sentimentally superficial places like Faneuil Hall Marketplace (in Boston) and a thousand “themed” shopping malls had proliferated across the country. And while, yes, there is cooking without chefs, and sewing without couture, these treatises and their projects carried (and still do carry) a more insidious, threatening motive: elitist high modern (and by association architects’) blood in the water, populist sharks circling.
We live with this legacy today and we are worse off for it. We’ve gotten what people want filtered through what real estate developers and city planners think they want without any idea that people may not know what they want, without ever knowing that there’s so much more we could have if we were exposed to experiences other than the limited ones we have had. Or worse, there are architects who don’t believe we have anything to learn and have, therefore, learned little with now little to offer—the practice having been reduced to following the codes and the regulations, the protocols of the computer, shopping for ready-made, manufactured solutions and some vague notions of what “our clients” think they want reflexively recorded in dutiful meeting notes.
We witness little reflection or even acknowledgment that design is by definition intentional, that it can be affirmative, that there is something to be learned, and then (hopefully) skillfully applied, and that for those of us who make the effort to experience new and old things and learn from them we actually can design buildings and cities while those who haven’t cannot and therefore should not so cavalierly tell us what to do or how to do it.