- Grady
- May 2
- 4 min read
In my previous blog on Bali, I commended the role of consumerism, particularly its part in tourism and on the exploration of human engagement with architecture and the built environment. The idea of context, culture, economic, and social influences amalgamating into creating a unique and user-orientated architectural language - and in return creating more engaging and human-centric designs. This outlook of experiential consumerism has allowed associated capitalism to further push these ideas as positive human experiences, generating monetary gain.
However, on a more global scale, a different form of consumerism has taken root. Most notably within industrial design and fashion, fast-paced consumerism - similar to fast-moving consumer goods (FMCG) - has become a global phenomenon, where goods are consumed at an accelerated rate for relatively low cost, encouraging frequent purchasing. This paradigm of consumerism overlooks particular human needs, and prioritises monetary gain rather than the end user and surrounding contexts (and impact).
From Apple notoriously reducing battery longevity, forcing consumers to constantly upgrade to their latest models, to fast fashion such as H&M, pumping out and chasing fashion fads. This relentless cycle of consumption is now deeply influencing the built environment, pushing architecture and design toward a rapid pace of production that often leads to homogenization, stripping spaces of their unique character and reducing them to mere commodities. Where architecture stood the test of time, often by hundreds of years, they now lose their integrity in more ways than one.
I entered the profession with a deep belief that architecture exists to serve humanity - to shape experiences, nurture well-being, and anchor identity. Yet throughout practice, I often found myself complicit in producing spaces that betrayed these ideals. I recall reviewing layouts, asking myself, ‘Would I want to live here?’ The answer was often no. Each decision - shaving a meter off a bedroom, narrowing a corridor, reducing the quality of components - felt like a small betrayal. And yet the project moved forward, and so did I, carrying a growing weight. There is no easy escape from this entanglement. But perhaps the beginning of resistance lies in refusing to forget that architecture is, at its core, a human act - and that each drawing, each decision, carries the weight of lives yet to be lived.
In the context of Australia, I have both lived in and worked on projects that embody the fast-paced, consumerist qualities now infiltrating architecture. Two apartments I lived in for several years in Melbourne felt more like white plasterboard caves than homes. Each was single-aspect, meaning only one side of the apartment had a facade facing the outside world. The bedroom had just one window, and it wasn’t even connected directly to the outdoors. Instead, it opened into the living room, which itself connected to the sunroom through another window - three layers of glazing before any natural light could finally reach the bedroom. The light that did arrive was minuscule, barely touching the living room, let alone the bedroom. But of course - thank God the developers were able to squeeze in more apartments per floor plate!
Working in practice exposed me to these situations from the other side. A moral and ethical dilemma began to tremble within me. As a designer, how can I tolerate creating spaces like these? Awkward corridors, subpar spatial planning - questionable quality driven by the imperative to fitting more in. And in turn, the more we fit, the more end-users end up feeling less. If dwelling spaces and the built environment are designed for their occupants - for humans - why are so many developments now devoid of empathy?
With Victoria engaging in a push for Melbourne’s missing middle housing, I wonder what it will look and feel like. Will these, which are meant to help residents afford housing, be also devoid of empathy? Will streets and suburbs be filled with uninspiring blasé facades that lack identity and the dynamism of life? Such a thing like this reflects inwards into soulless occupants.
Affordability and efficiency can never come at the cost of human dignity. It’s easy to imagine how these developments might follow a similar trajectory to the fast-paced consumerist housing trends we see today - high-density buildings that maximise every square inch, minimising space and light to fit more people in. Will these homes become another iteration of sterile, cookie-cutter designs? Efficient yet uninspiring, convenient yet soul-crushing?
It’s not enough to simply provide housing; we must think about how people live in these spaces. Are we creating environments that encourage well-being, connection, and a sense of identity, or are we pushing people into cramped, uninviting spaces that prioritise numbers over lives? Will these homes foster community, or will they simply function as places to sleep before heading out into the world again?
As the state turns to these new developments to alleviate pressure on the housing market, I can’t help but wonder if they risk becoming another example of "affordable" architecture that comes at the expense of quality. In our rush to provide more units, to accommodate more people, will we forget the very essence of architecture - that it is, at its heart, a human act?
