In my first week of grad school, I was unceremoniously thrown into an accelerated financial modeling class. I thought I was pretty proficient at Excel coming off of my 4 years as a research analyst--and I certainly had a leg up over some of my classmates--but it was still a baptism by fire. After six weeks, we had our final exam. The professor took away my mouse and I had 60 minutes to build a 10-year cash-flow investment model from scratch using just the keyboard.
It. Was. Brutal.
I don’t think any other class caused so much anxiety among my classmates and I. As tough as it was though, I walked away with two very valuable lessons. The first is that there is a keyboard shortcut for just about everything. The second, and probably more useful, is that every building gets built financially before it gets built physically.
Skyscrapers are the ultimate architecture of capitalism. The first blueprint for every tall building is a balance sheet… (page 181)
This concept was the main thesis of Carol Willis’s Form Follows Finance. More of an extended research paper than an actual book, Willis looks specifically at the development of modern skyscrapers in New York City and Chicago in the early 1900s. She explores the two major building styles that emerged and makes the argument that these forms were developed as a result of financial decisions, and not architectural decisions.
For example, in the early 1900s electric lights were still a luxury. This meant that offices were illuminated either by gas lamps or by natural light. Natural light was obviously the cheaper and more efficient of the two, so research was done to determine how far away from a window you could work and still have sufficient natural light. The general consensus was 20-28 feet. Landlords and developers quickly learned that any office space farther than 28 feet from a window would not rent well. As a result, all subsequent floor plans were built to this standard. In NYC, where the blocks are naturally long and narrow, this led to the creation of tall, thin buildings. In Chicago, where building heights were capped at 150 feet, big boxy buildings with large central light wells became the trend.
Modern architects might call this decision to cap office depths at 28 feet something like “sustainable design” or “designing for livability”... but at the end of the day, it was all about maximizing rents.
“Architect Harvey Wiley Corbett stated the general point simply: It is better business to construct less building, and have shallow offices well-lighted, than to have more building with deep spaces poorly lighted.” (page 27)
Another example from the book that I found fascinating had to do with the introduction of New York’s well-known 1916 zoning code. The first such zoning code in the country, this ordinance had no building height restrictions, but mandated a progression of building setbacks the higher a building reached. This led to the well recognized style of “wedding cake” tiers (picture the Empire State Building) that quickly spread to other parts of the country.
Most summaries of the 1916 zoning ordinance will tell you that it was passed as a result of the Equitable Building, a monolithic box of a building that cut off light and views for many of its neighbors, even some that were a full four blocks away! Building setbacks were seen as a way to guarantee that light and air would reach all the way down to street level. However, Willis argues that this was only part of the story. While city officials were largely in favor of passing the new zoning code, they would not do so without the support of business and real estate interests. That support came as the building industry went into recession between 1911 and 1913, with vacancy rates climbing as high as 17 percent. Property owners began to see that oversupply had led to decreased profitability and a decline in property values. Their support for the new legislation was seen as a way to ensure the continued success of their existing buildings by limiting new construction.
These examples, and others that Willis shares, make a strong argument that early skyscraper design was more heavily influenced by financial decisions than by perhaps any other interest.
All this said, I feel the need to state clearly that this book wasn’t great. The content had a lot of promise, but overall, it was a struggle to reach the end. Willis writes like an academic, and in the second half of the book it becomes very clear that she doesn’t fully understand what she’s talking about. Several common real estate terms were repeatedly misused, showing that she only had a superficial understanding of them. I got the sense that she interviewed a bunch of brokers and tried to work their jargon into her manuscript. The one redeeming quality of her book was the many historic illustrations and photographs provided. This was a treasure trove of old floor plans and elevations, and the author included many impressive postcards of historic skylines from her personal collection. Like the setbacks on a 1920’s office building, these photos really helped to break up the monotony.
I’ll close by saying that I really appreciated the intent of this book, but I think the execution fell pretty flat. I’ve read a handful of books on architecture and city design, and this one probably took the most realistic approach I’ve seen. Ideally, it would be great to design buildings and spaces while only considering livability, style, and the environment, but only in the rarest circumstances does that actually happen. Even the initial design of the iconic Empire State Building was “entirely financial, not architectural. The different schemes were described only in numbers--stories, cubic feet, operating costs, and projected income.” (page 95).
At the end of the day, if it doesn’t make financial sense, even the best-designed building in the world will likely never get built. Willis’s title probably sums it up most succinctly and effectively by stating that the form of your building will always follow the finance.