Roughly a decade ago, the Hong Kong-based Far Eastern Economic Review ran an article that opened with the observation that Taipei had a population of 2 million people, “none of whom seem to be architects.” Although much the same thing could have been said about Hong Kong a decade or two earlier, the criticism nevertheless struck a painful cord—especially because it appeared not far from the truth. Taipei had long been saddled with the popular designation of being one of the ugliest ducklings among Asia’s major cities.
But architects have taken it on the chin too hard and too long. The record needs to be set straight. Taipei’s still unimpressive skyline is not primarily their fault. The blame lies mainly with the public, and nothing much can be expected in the way of architectural style or sophistication until more people decide that attractive public spaces are a high priority. Until then, architects don’t have much of a chance.
For verification, pick any new high-rise building in the city and go back for a visual check every few months. On opening day, observers will be reminded that Taipei follows a mixed-use planning model, with nearly self-sufficient neighborhoods that have no separation between residential and commercial districts. Most apartment buildings along main and secondary streets devote the ground floor to business activities. Shopping malls are downstairs, not on the edge of town. A walk of two or three blocks along most major streets will yield several fast-food restaurants, clothing stores, a laundry, market, flower shop, pharmacy, doctor’s clinic, day care center, coffee shop, and much more.
Architecturally, this means that the ground floors of most new buildings are being redesigned even before the residents move in upstairs. Why? Because the car dealers, restauranteurs, or boutique owners have their own ideas about how the sidewalk level should look, and their ideas rarely harmonize with the building. For architects, the result is especially discouraging because entrances and ground floors define a building’s character. They are the prime sight lines for pedestrians and drivers; change this level, and the building’s integrity is maimed.
This assault on the architect’s vision is only the first of many. Businesses fail, move, or redecorate with considerable frequency. Each time this happens, the ground floor space is redesigned. Buildings never seem “finished” because in fact they aren’t.
The same is true upstairs. Some of the upper floors have no doubt been purchased by businesses. Thus, apartment dwellers may find that they are sharing their floor with a cram school, beauty parlor, and a trade company office. Of course, these have to advertise their somewhat obscure locations. Easy. Signboards stuck in windows or large neon signs attached to the building are just what’s needed. No matter if the signs have any integral relationship with the design of the original structure. The business owners don’t mind because advertising means more business. Money matters, not aesthetics.
Residents also get their licks in at architects. After settling into their apartments, one of their first moves is to safeguard the premises and add extra storage space by enclosing the balconies with iron window gratings that alter—and inevitably mar—the building’s architectural lines. These usually jut out from the side of the building at least a half meter and quickly become jammed with plants, storage boxes, and other assorted clutter. Worse, neighbors do not agree on a standard shape, color, or quality of grating design, and some frames begin rusting in months, leaving long brown tails down the building surfaces. Look up from the sidewalk and see visual confusion to the max on each floor. But the residents don’t mind. After all, the clutter and ugliness is on the outside. The public space doesn’t matter all that much.
The pattern described here is typical and it has been replicated throughout Taipei for years. For whatever combination of historical, social, cultural, or economic reasons, Taipei residents have acquired a reputation for caring very little about what the public parts of their city look like.
Today, however, Taipei appears to be on the threshold of major architectural and aesthetic change. The momentum has been building slowly for several years as more and more residents demonstrate greater sensitivity to public space. Pride of place has to start somewhere, and in Taipei one of the first stimuli came from the local owners of major international hotels. The Royal Taipei, the Grand Hyatt Taipei, the Sherwood Taipei, the Grand Formosa Regent, the Taipei Metro—these combination hotel and commercial developments demonstrated in solid, visible terms what elegance and a sense of scale and grandeur can do to a cityscape. They showed the city's residents how buildings can exhibit style. Moreover, the hotels all incorporated Taipei into their name, extending their attractiveness to the city itself.
At roughly the same time, a few owners put up high-rise buildings and stipulated that residents could not add iron cage gratings or undertake any major redesigning unless approved by the building's resident committee. The idea is catching on. And even more recently, the publicity for newly built government buildings has stressed a concern for user-friendliness and provision of attractive spaces for public use.
Does this mean that a massive change in attitude toward urban aesthetics is in the offing? Cautious optimism may be in order. Many of today's great European cities became architecturally significant only after commercial wealth was poured into buildings by rulers and businesspeople in search of greater public recognition and enhanced status. Today, Taipei has that public and private wealth. Moreover, its residents have become dedicated international travelers; they know firsthand how poorly their home stacks up against other major cities. Saving "face," and gaining it, is not just a cultural concern for individuals; it can also extend to communities. When it does, expect the best architects to have plenty of opportunity to change Taipei's skyline. Whatever the architectural style, the priorities can be expected to include aesthetic concerns instead of ignoring them.