The Architectural Wisdom of Non-Architects

How Client Perspectives Transform People-Centered Design

In my experience over quite a few decades, most architects consider themselves humanists and, to go farther, empathic humanists. Knowing my colleagues from practice, along with architecture teachers and students, I believe such a description captures the profile of architects generally. 

That’s not a boast. It’s also not enough.

While the many stresses of real architectural practice can push that temperament and those values away from the center of the profession’s attention, the intention isn’t to disregard the temperament and values of the very people architecture can and should serve, which means non-architects.

To the contrary. But the structure and processes of practice don’t tilt toward making architect/non-architect connections central. Nor do they help architects gain the enormously valuable insights that come from in-depth inquiry, spending time listening to non-architects, probing thoughts and emotions as they relate to life in the environment, the existing one and the one that can arise in the future. The emotional and thoughtful wisdom of non-architects is great, under-tapped, and full of potential to get design right.

Design projects are precious and rare opportunities for getting architecture right. Once a building passes from the hands of its designers, into the hands of builders, and, after opening day, into the hands of the people who experience it from the inside, not to mention everybody who engages (or disengages) from the outside, changing the architecture is very, very hard. 

When design thinking starts well, which I believe means starting in dialogue with non-architects, the odds of getting architecture right increases geometrically. When square-footage requirements and zoning frameworks, as just two of many pragmatic and necessary requirements, come first, the people-centered aspects can only be hitched to them as after-thoughts.

That tail doesn’t have the leverage to wag the design dog. The design agendas on the desks of architects leans toward “practical” concerns. In my experience, practical concerns can be solved in many ways, ways not in conflict with more humane, “non-practical” objectives.

Ultimately, what is more impractical, after expending enormous amounts of time and money, making buildings that don’t work positively for people? Because buildings stick around, likely well beyond the lifetimes of those who conceived it, those who paid for it, and those who arrived there when it opened, getting it right with people matters. Longevity can align with love: people fight for buildings they love. 

A building, regardless of its purpose, that doesn’t feel like “home” in the feelings of its occupants, will not contribute to their satisfaction, which can translate into measurable failures. In the cases of offices and manufacturing, for just two examples, that can include abiding problems with productivity, job satisfaction, and encouraging long-term commitment to institutions and companies. In the long term, it’s the people-cost of buildings that is the greatest, and the one most sensitive to design.

Getting design right in people terms takes time, significant time, to immerse in authentic dialogue with people. Architects who manage practices are loath to spend resources that project fees don’t cover, and that’s measured in hours. There are only so many that staffing budgets can support. Ultimately, ignoring budgets make firms go out of business.

So, what’s the argument for spending the time on immersion? It’s pragmatic. Getting the design right the first time, avoiding the waste of multiple failures and re-do’s, saves hours. That increases the odds that the project will go efficiently and smoothly, translating into fewer hours, saving dollars, and potentially increasing profits.

One measure of getting it right is approvals, typically client approvals, but much of the time, user and stakeholder, and even neighborhood support that help finding success quickly. In my experience, one particularly strong force for approvals is beauty. Sophisticated clients recognize that, as my practice partner and I often said, “beauty sells,” and beauty engages emotion more than spreadsheets. If people like what is proposed, that’s an indicator that the built project will attract happy tenants and users, and stakeholders, major profit drivers.

Architects learn, and usually to our dismay, that clients once turned off by designs can’t be brought back, no matter the rational arguments offered. Looking back, often, decisions hinged on beauty.

Another facet: “value engineering,” reducing budget overruns. Sometimes, “hard-headed” developers will decapitate elements that are beautiful to solve budget overruns, seeing them as extraneous. But, if design that appeals at an emotional level is the starting point for design thinking, beauty becomes central, inherent in the design, not an appendage that can be lopped off.

A brief case study: Washington, DC, in the 1950s and 1960s was hardly an architectural mecca. Instead, it was overrun with frankly cheap-looking office buildings. But, in that hot real estate market, they didn’t need to be better. The demand for square footage, pretty much any square footage, was so great and, until overbuilding took place, the supply was much less.

But things began to change in the late 1990s, when there was a better balance of supply and demand and new awareness about spatial quality. Staff happiness was becoming a money-matter for employers, which meant the emotional side of design became a critical, not a secondary concern. That applied inside and out. “Curb appeal” got potential tenants to knock on the door. Lobbies made them pause and take a longer look. Leasable spaces that could be made welcoming became essential to making deals.

Is it only about money? Well, the use of money is a demonstration of commitment, and so it is an indirect measure. In the case of buildings, the ways money is spent are a measure of getting the essentials right. With that atmosphere and framework, architects can act on their humanistic and empathic temperaments and values to the benefit of clients and society. 

There’s much more to say about it. Many pages in People-Centered Architecture focus on the complexities in “getting it right” and collaborative ways to address them. I hope you’ll go there to investigate the ideas and strategies in more depth.

Milton