Cities are slowly reshaping themselves. Walkable streets, bike-friendly networks, and mixed-use neighborhoods are becoming planning priorities as climate goals, changing lifestyles, and remote work reshape daily patterns. Yet even as these people-centered ideas gain momentum, most cities still rely heavily on private cars, creating a tension between the urban futures we're designing for and the mobility habits that persist today.
This tension has pushed architects and developers to rethink one of the hardest pieces of the urban puzzle: parking. Mixed-use buildings are multiplying, stacking homes, workplaces, and services into tighter footprints, and every square meter has to work harder. The challenge is no longer simply where to put the cars, but how to integrate parking in ways that support density, livability, and long-term adaptability—allowing cities to evolve without letting vehicles dominate their form.
What does optimism feel like in cities that can no longer rely on perfection as their ultimate ambition? Across the world, urban environments bear the weight of overlapping pressures: climate volatility, spatial inequality, political fragmentation, public distrust, and chronic infrastructural disinvestment. These realities render the idea of an ideal city increasingly detached from lived experience. Yet the hope for building better systems persists. While utopian visions may seem like an escape from the growing complexities of the modern world, the greater challenge for contemporary city-making is to confront those complexities rather than avoid them.
2025 marks the 60th anniversary of Singapore's independence, commemorating its separation from Malaysia on August 9, 1965. The occasion is celebrated in the country's national pavilion at the 19th Venice Architecture Biennale with a multisensory installation that honors Singapore's diversity and reimagines city-making through food, culture, and collective design. Titled RASA–TABULA–SINGAPURA, the installation invites visitors to take a seat at the Table of Superdiversity: an enticing reimagining of city-making and nation-building through the universal act of dining. According to the curatorial team from the Singapore University of Technology and Design (SUTD), the purpose of the installation is to showcase how the convergence of multicultural differences, collective histories, design, and new technology creates opportunities for more inclusive and adaptive urban futures.
For over a century and a half, corporations have periodically taken on the role of city builders. Neighborhoods or even entire settlements that exist at the intersection of commerce and civic life, "company towns" are recurring urban types. The corporate city has long reshaped itself to match the spirit of each era, whether through the pastoral idealism of industrial England or the cinematic optimism of mid-century America. In its latest guise, the mixed-income campus district, architecture becomes a language of belonging, branding, and quiet persuasion.
Ciudad Cayalá, a privately developed, mixed-use community on the outskirts of Guatemala City, is often described as a "theme park" of white lime-washed walls, red tiles, and cobbled plazas. A closer examination, however, reveals a more complex urban narrative. Its significance, however, lies in its capacity to create a safe and well-managed public space, proposing a modern reinterpretation of historic urban principles that mark the region's architectural and urban heritage. Behind the Antigua-style façades lies an urban experiment: a modern re-engagement with architectural elements like arcades, courtyards, and open plazas, which propose a privately-managed public space as a solution to urban challenges in the region.
Architecture—one of the few cultural artifacts made to be publicly lived with, preserved, and often capable of standing for centuries—contributes significantly to the cultural identity of places and people. Historically, buildings have expressed institutional attitudes, influence, and power; they are clear demonstrations of culture. Yet longevity complicates preservation: when a structure is rebuilt, repaired, or entirely reassembled, in what sense is it still the same building?
There's the classic Ship of Theseus puzzle from Plutarch. if a ship's planks are replaced one by one over time, is it still the same ship? Thomas Hobbes adds a twist—if the original planks are reassembled elsewhere, which ship is "the original"? The paradox tests what grounds identity: material fabric, continuous use and history, or shared recognition. In architecture and conservation, it reframes preservation as a choice among keeping matter, maintaining form and function, or sustaining the stories and practices that give a place meaning.
A globally-recognized advocate for ecological urbanism, Yu gained international relevance after his "sponge city" philosophy was adopted as a national policy in China in 2013. The approach prioritizes nature-based solutions, such as wetlands, parks, and permeable pavements, to absorb and retain water. This novel method stood in stark contrast to traditional concrete infrastructure, offering cities a way to combat urban flooding and accelerate climate change by working with nature rather than against it. His ideas have since been implemented in hundreds of cities worldwide.
The North Gate of Taipei, also known as Beimen, stands not only as a reminder of the city's complex history but also as a witness to the changing urban landscape around it, and its shifting attitudes towards the urban spaces bordering heritage buildings. Initially a Chinese imperial frontier, spared from demolition during the Japanese colonial dominion, crowded by overpasses and highways in the postwar modernization efforts, it has recently regained its prominent status through the development of the plaza that now frames it. The gate's resilience through shifting urban priorities and architectural policies tells a story of heritage preservation not only through the built form, but also through the open spaces framing it.
Urban policymakers and developers increasingly brand projects as temporary, piloting pop-up parks, art installations, and interim structures across global cities. Initiatives are often framed as experimental interventions that activate vacant sites. In practice, however, they frequently serve as provisional strategies to manage underutilized land until more profitable forms of development materialize. The temporary label functions as urban camouflage, obscuring permanent agendas behind provisional rhetoric.
For most architecture enthusiasts, mentions of the city of Copenhagen will prompt images of pedestrian-friendly streets, suspended bike lanes, quaint water canals, and overall happy residents. The capital of Denmark has many accomplishments to boast: over 60 percent of its residents commute to work by bike, it was among the first cities to set up a strategic plan to achieve carbon neutrality, resulting in an 80% decrease since 2009, and it has become one of the most cited study cases for its urban planning and infrastructure. This reputation was officially cemented when UNESCO named Copenhagen the 2023 World Capital of Architecture, recognizing the city's enduring role as a laboratory for innovative contemporary design and people-centered urbanism. This September,the inaugural Copenhagen Architecture Biennial transforms the city into a global platform for dialogue under the theme "Slow Down," exploring how architecture can respond to global pressures by rethinking the pace of change. The occasion is also marked by the launch of ArchDaily's 5th edition of Next Practices Awards, solidifying the city's status as a nexus for contemporary architectural thought.
Houhai Hybrid Campus design. Render. Image Courtesy of Büro Ole Scheeren
The international firm Büro Ole Scheeren has unveiled images of the Houhai Hybrid Campus, a new urban complex in Shenzhen's Houhai district. The development is situated in a strategic area within the original Shenzhen Special Economic Zone (SEZ), bridging the city's commercial center and its bayfront. The release of the Hybrid Campus images coincided with the 45th anniversary of Shenzhen's designation as a Special Economic Zone, a milestone marking the city's transformation from a fishing village into a global innovation hub. Currently under construction, the Hybrid Campus integrates work, living, culture, commerce, leisure, recreation, and nature into a unified urban complex, scheduled to open in late 2026.
What if the best kind of play isn't the safest? For decades, cities have built playgrounds to be clean, colorful, and easy to supervise. Yet these spaces—designed more for adult peace of mind than for children's curiosity—often strip away what makes play truly transformative: risk, unpredictability, and self-direction. Rising safety standards, shrinking public space, and the commercialization of play equipment have only further narrowed the possibilities for children's independent exploration. From a junkyard in 1940s Copenhagen to the concrete landscapes of postwar Amsterdam, a handful of architects, planners, and activists have challenged the idea that play must be neat and controlled. Their unconventional playgrounds—made of loose parts, raw materials, and abstract forms—gave children the freedom to build, demolish, explore, and get dirty.
Oxford United Football Club's planning application for a new all-electric football stadium has been approved by Cherwell District Council. The scheme was developed by a team that includes AFL Architects, Mott Macdonald engineering services, Fabrik landscape design, and Ridge and Partners built environment consultants. Designed for a capacity of 16,000 spectators, the master plan also proposes a 1,000-person events space, a 180-bed hotel, a restaurant, a health and wellbeing centre, and a new public plaza with gardens.
By Jeanette Fich Jespersen, MA, Head of the KOMPAN Play Institute, Head of the steering committee of the World Playground Research Institute, University of Southern Denmark, Vice-president of International Play Association, Denmark.
Historically, the concept of childhood as we know it today simply didn't exist and, until the Middle Ages, children were viewed as miniature adults. According to historian Philippe Ariès, it was only from the 17th century onward that childhood began to be understood as a distinct stage of development, requiring specific care, education, and protection. However, this evolving recognition has not been consistently reflected in the design and organization of urban space.
Heritage preservation and economic viability have long been treated as competing priorities in urban development. Architects typically face a stark choice - to design for community continuity or design for financial returns. Contemporary projects in Mumbai render this binary false. Through strategic programming, material choices, and spatial organization, architects enable buildings to generate sustainable revenue while strengthening, rather than displacing, existing communities.
Mongolia, the world's second-largest landlocked country, spans 1.5 million square kilometers. Yet, over 50% of its population—approximately 1.7 million people—reside in Ulaanbaatar, a city that occupies just 0.3% of the nation's total land area. This disproportionate population concentration has led to significant regional development imbalances and mounting urban challenges in the capital.
In response to these issues, Ulaanbaatar has undergone a series of comprehensive urban development initiatives. Since the first master plan was introduced in 1954, six such plans have been created. The latest, the Ulaanbaatar 2040 Master Plan, includes a strategic vision to decentralize urban growth through the development of two new satellite cities—one of which is the Hunnu City project.
