Designer (Architecture and Interior), founding partner of YY Projects. Lecturer at the University of Hong Kong and the Technological and Higher Education Institute of Hong Kong. Holds a M.Arch from Harvard University and a B.A. (Arch) from UC Berkeley. Previously in Brooklyn, currently based in Hong Kong.
In 2024, a diverse range of topics have been comprehensively explored, some focusing specifically on architectural details and construction systems. These articles provide valuable insights into architecture's often-overlooked technical and functional aspects. By shifting attention away from aesthetics, materials, and spatial massing, they reveal the importance of intricate details and the construction systems underpinning contemporary projects' larger architectural vision.
Executing these seemingly small elements is crucial in shaping how architecture is perceived and experienced. Specifying and drawing a thoughtfully designed detail is not dissimilar to determining the correct screw in building a car—its thread count, material, and length—can dramatically influence not only the success of an architectural design but also the quality of the human experience it fosters. Such details, while often dismissed as mundane and may not be the most recognizable features of stellar projects, profoundly impact the cohesiveness and functionality of architectural projects.
As we move past Thanksgiving and step into December, the festive season is fast approaching. This time of year brings celebrations, holidays, and travel plans into full swing. Particularly in the Northern Hemisphere, there is a strong association between end-of-year festivities and cold, snowy weather.
Among the many traditions that celebrate the season, one of the most logistically and architecturally challenging is arranging for the giant Christmas tree for Rockefeller Center in New York City. This spectacle of moving a 70+ foot, 10+ ton tree into one of the busiest city centers in the world continues to capture the holiday spirit annually.
In the 21st century, Glass has become a cornerstone material for architecture. Once limited to apertures and openings, Glass now dominates entire facades, especially in high-rise buildings where transparent cladding material is preferred to maximize views. The technological advancements in Glass have been remarkable, transitioning from single-pane panels, such as those used in Bauhaus' iron window frames, to today's triple-pane systems with specialized gas infills, such as argon, designed to address Glass's long-standing thermal limitations.
Air rights transactions have become essential in urban development, allowing cities to grow vertically while preserving limited land resources. Typically defined as the right to use or sell the space above a property, air rights enable property owners to transfer unused floor area ratio (FAR) to neighboring parcels, creating increased density and financial gain opportunities. However, the definition can vary based on locality and region, as each country interprets air rights and the ability to build or transfer them differently. As urban centers face mounting pressures from limited land supply and population growth, air rights continue to offer a creative solution that fosters architectural innovation and economic efficiency.
Overprovision can be seen as an architecture strategy through the lens of resilience—making spaces adaptable to changes, reinterpretations, and future needs. However, could overprovision also offer a productive lens for rethinking spatial design? Are there parallels in architectural theory or practice that align with this concept, as explored by notable figures in the discourse on space?
This question becomes particularly relevant in residential design, especially in regions like Hong Kong or Tokyo, where the demand to maximize space is a cultural and practical norm. Designers are frequently tasked with "making use of every inch" for storage or function, reflecting a tendency among residents to accumulate belongings disproportionate to their living spaces.
The design of public bathrooms and changing facilities has historically catered to a generalized notion of user needs, often oversimplifying the complexities of gender-specific requirements and falling short of supporting the unique needs of women. These needs extend beyond biological differences—such as the necessity for more stall privacy and differences in height and body posture—to include cultural factors that influence restroom use and expectations over time.
For instance, women's contemporary clothing often lacks adequate pocket space, resulting in the need to carry a handbag, even for simple essentials like phones and wallets. Despite efforts in recent architectural designs to address these disparities, the layered nuances of biological, cultural, and gender identity factors present a multifaceted challenge that defies a one-size-fits-all solution.
For centuries, burial practices across various cultures have connected honoring the deceased to the earth, with cemeteries firmly grounded in the soil as a symbol of eternal peace. Yet, as discussed in one of our articles, No More Room for the Living or the Dead: Exploring the Future for Burials in Asia, land shortages in densely developed urban areas present significant challenges to traditional burial practices, especially as societies like Japan face an aging population. Given these spatial constraints, how can above-ground cemeteries and columbariums be designed to provide a dignified, tranquil resting place while respecting cultural values?
Our contemporary society has been witnessing a surge in skyscraper construction in urban centers worldwide for various reasons—including engineering advancements, increased urban density, space constraints, and, arguably, a competitive drive for building the tallest structures. The allure of all-glass facades and the pursuit of curtain walls with larger panes of continuous glass have often come at the cost of functionality.
In these towers, operable windows are sacrificed for aesthetics and expansive views, with a central core layout that maximizes 360-degree views while creating architectural "solar heat-gain monsters." Without natural or cross ventilation, these glass skyscrapers trap significant heat from solar radiation within habitable spaces, relying almost exclusively on mechanical HVAC systems to cool these spaces. This raises the question: is passive ventilation strategy becoming obsolete in high-rise design, or can operable systems be integrated effectively into our high-tech towers?
Coffee culture continues to thrive in the contemporary world, with a noticeable shift from the dominance of chains & franchise stores to a growing market for prosumer coffee. As more and more coffee consumers become prosumers, individuals who both produce and consume, they are turning coffee-making into a hobby, even a ritual, and are expecting coffee shops to keep up. Consumers are becoming more knowledgeable, paying close attention to the source and type of beans, brewing methods, and equipment. They also appreciate the design of coffee machinery, not just for its functionality but for its aesthetics, efficiency, and space management. This surge in interest, especially in Asia, has led to changes in coffee shops' operations. Many individual coffee shops, responding to the rise in consumer spending power and interests, are motivated to focus on creating unique, immersive experiences for an ever-growing marketable audience.
How do societies support and nurture emerging architects? Young architects are heavily influenced by their formal education and initial exposure to the industry. Various organizational systems across regions, whether passive through environmental factors or active via tangible benefits, are in place to assist them in entering the field. However, it's worth questioning how often we reflect on these established support systems. Are they effective in fostering well-rounded professionals, or do they unintentionally reinforce certain biases in how architecture is practiced?
In Delirious New York, Rem Koolhaas vividly discusses the Downtown Athletic Club, a striking example of how an unassuming building exterior can conceal a vibrant mix of distinct, self-contained programs. Inside the uniform facade of this skyscraper, a private athletic club hosts an eclectic range of facilities—boxing gyms next to oyster bars and interior golf ranges below swimming pools—all segregated yet highly accessible. The Downtown Athletic Club epitomized the dynamism of New York's skyscrapers at the time, showcasing the thrill of capitalism through a selective, inward-focused world of leisure and privilege for the selected. This "machine of programs" operated independently of the external city as an isolated ecosystem within its walls. Yet, one might ask: could a similar model, designed for public use, create a more inclusive, lively community and neighborhood experience? This will activate the building within, instead of only serving the selected elites, and influence and transform the urban fabric and shapes around the building. In Hong Kong, a distant parallel can be drawn with the Municipal Services Buildings (MSBs)—publicly-funded structures that serve the community by integrating diverse functions within a singular vast building mass, much like the Downtown Athletic Club.
Two primary building approaches are commonly identified in architecture and design: solid versus hollow construction. These methods vary significantly across different cultures and regions, specifically for interior partitioning systems, when they appear interchangeable. Each has its own established practices influenced by local materials, labor preferences, climatic conditions, and cultural traditions. When architects and designers focus on their local context, it is easy to overlook the broader construction assumptions, limiting design flexibility and methodology. This raises an important question: How do these two building approaches differ?
Focusing mainly on interior systems, the distinctions between solid and hollow construction largely stem from the availability of materials and workforce preferences. For example, in the United States and Japan, stud walls, both wood and metal, are frequently used for partitioning. Conversely, brick remains the predominant material for partition walls in regions such as Hong Kong and southern China. Why do we build differently, and what are the benefits and challenges of each building methodology?
In recent years, continuous material finishes enveloping interior spaces have become increasingly prominent, particularly in branding-focused retail environments. A continuous interior refers to using what are typically liquid-applied materials that are cured to create seamless, uninterrupted surfaces, eliminating the appearance of joints and seams—at least during the initial application. A growing range of products now offer various color options, textures, and practical properties, making these finishes more versatile. Interestingly, the aesthetic effect of such interiors is uncanny to the rise of 3D rendering software, where the seamless, fluid look mirrors the smooth, idealized spaces typical of digital renderings. This effect also contributes to a sense of scalelessness, as the absence of visible seams or joints makes it harder to discern the actual size of a space, often giving the illusion that the interior is larger than it is.
With escalating land values in urban centers, there has been a growing trend to float public spaces from ground level to elevated locations, such as rooftops or podiums between buildings. From a development perspective, maximizing floor area has become crucial as urban environments expand. Ground-level spaces are highly sought after for retail use due to their strategic location, which attracts foot traffic and potential customers and drives city development and economics.
This financial consideration, which often guides building activities and directions in urban centers, contradicts design principles advocated during the modernist era for the benefits of better outdoor space for the public, such as the concept of 'Freeing the Ground'. Architects like Le Corbusier championed this concept through projects like Villa Savoye and Unite d' Habitation. These modernist designs envisioned a future where buildings were elevated to restore open, accessible outdoor ground-level spaces for its users. However, for the reasons above, many contemporary projects instead seek to replicate the function of public grounds within the building's structure.
Large-scale infrastructure projects often aim to connect distant locations within urban areas, facilitating quicker transportation, logistics, and commercial activities along their routes. However, while these projects link distant destinations, their substantial physical presence can significantly affect local communities. This may result in the disconnection and disengagement of previously connected neighborhoods, the disruption of public spaces, and generally negative outdoor experiences caused by noise, pollution, and lack of attention and maintenance to these infrastructures.
Nevertheless, several successful built environment projects have re-integrated contentious infrastructure into the community through thoughtful design of outdoor spaces, with Paris' Coulée verte René-Dumont being one of the first examples and New York's High Line being one of the most prominent examples. The High Line demonstrates how well-conceived outdoor projects can address the alienation caused by extensive infrastructure, foster community reconnection, serve as cultural and economic hubs, and even spur further economic redevelopment, as in Hudson Yards.
Over-providing traditionally implies offering more than is necessary, often carrying a negative connotation due to the potential for excess and waste. However, could there be scenarios within the built environment where over-providing proves advantageous? The question critically examines how overprovisioning might enhance a building's flexibility and adaptability to diverse and evolving conditions.
The underlying assumption of accurately providing what is needed for a building is that stakeholders—including owners, architects, and designers—can accurately predict and cater to a structure's current and future needs. This assumption, however, is challenging to realize, as societal, economic, and cultural shifts frequently occur in unpredictable ways. In this context, over-providing emerges as a counterintuitive yet potentially beneficial strategy. As buildings and structures inevitably transform, those designed with inherent adaptability reduce the need for costly renovations or complete rebuilds.
Bauhaus's designs have influenced our contemporary society in obvious and subtle ways. Iconic examples include Marcel Breuer’s Wassily Chair, the B55 Chair, the Bauhaus typeface, and the graphic design principles emphasizing clean lines, primary colors, and geometric shapes. However, the architectural construction details of the Bauhaus movement are much less discussed. While most can readily identify modern or Bauhaus buildings by their geometric forms, functionality, and industrial materials, their architectural details are often overlooked. They not only echo the design language of Breuer’s renowned furniture pieces but also have influenced the much-celebrated architectural glass details of Mies van der Rohe. How were Bauhaus's details executed, and how might they be translated into contemporary details today?
How have architecture and building design adapted to unforeseen future uses? As cities evolve, their needs for buildings inevitably change. Buildings may transition between cultural, commercial, industrial, and office functions depending on a city's identity and economic activity. In a world that is becoming increasingly dynamic and fast-paced, it's essential to consider the challenges static structures face when required to meet new demands. Cities have repurposed these static structures in ways not anticipated during their original design, with many successes in repurposing industrial buildings. Unlike structures designed with flexibility in mind, most manufacturing facilities were not initially intended for multiple uses. Yet, how have cities, communities, and occupants used these spaces, and what are the challenges of transforming a building’s existing uses?
