THE CULTURE OF CITIES
Recently, I’ve been thinking about the connection between public space and consumerism––an issue of particular interest to many contemporary architects, urbanists, and sociologists. Now removed from my lifelong North American home, it is blatantly apparent that the Netherlands (and perhaps much of Europe in general) presents a cultural ethos directly opposed to the hyper-consumerist culture of much of the United States (and perhaps Canada), one which is notably refreshing, but also somewhat unnerving.
I’d always been somewhat aware of the consumerist tendencies of many North Americans, but it wasn’t until my arrival in Europe that I gained perspective on how my day-to-day was affected by consumer culture. When living in LA, my friends and I, when bored, would immediately seek activity which almost always involved going to a bar, dining at a restaurant, seeing a film in a theatre, or some other form of inhabiting a space of capitalist creation and control. Shopping also seemed a weekly necessity, and, by summer’s end, I was spending an uncomfortable amount of time (and money) purchasing, acquiring, collecting.
This may seem somewhat extravagant, but I think this is a fundamental component of life in Los Angeles; aside from drinking, eating, and shopping, there’s really not a lot else to do. Yes, it is possible to spend time at Santa Monica beach, hiking in the hills of Malibu, or lounging in Hollywood Cemetery, all forms of recreation decidedly removed from the expenditure of capital or the inhabitation of private development. But the city is a capitalist maze filled with Corporate America’s messages and influences, and truly public nodes are but cysts in the concrete labyrinth. Driving (never walking) to the beach, one is confronted with an endless stream of advertisements and other forms of consumerist iconography, providing Angelenos an endless supply of acquirable desires.
To be sure, it is possible to spend much time removed from the most commercial of spaces when living in the city (I would like to think my friends and I did a reasonably good job), yet it is still disconcerting how much of daily life within LA hinges on the flow of capital. An afternoon spent in a public park (a rare, free way to spend an afternoon) most likely involves exorbitant fees for parking. An afternoon spent at one of LA’s other “public” facilities will likely cost more: parking at The Grove is only free with purchase from a retail outlet. There is a distinct link between money and personal enjoyment; at every turn, the city seems to scream: the wealthier you are, the more you’ll be able to do, the more fun you’ll have.
Fast-forward to Rotterdam: public space, sans metered parking, sans validation, is everywhere. Commuting by bicycle is easy, and advertisements are noticeably absent from major intersections and city streets. Days are spent in public parks, at soccer fields, in backyards, reading in a cafe. Here, money does not equal happiness: the relentless pressure to buy, which I felt most strongly in Los Angeles, is markedly absent. The culture of Rotterdam seems to exude frugality, not only in terms of material possessions, but also in relation to how one spends his or her time within the city.
Given my recent analysis of Rotterdam’s urban fabric, I wonder: to what extent is the urban fabric of Rotterdam, with its endless corridors of (seemingly utopic) public space, or Los Angeles, with its endless miles of shopping malls and advert-filled freeways, responsible for the consumer culture (or lack thereof) present in its metropolitan culture? Does freely available and meaningful public space (a la Rotterdam) generate a culture of modesty, where a lack thereof (a la Los Angeles) generates a society obsessed with consumerism? Would the addition of habitable public zones slow the Angeleno culture, or might the installment of billboards across Rotterdam slowly erode the inherently modest nature of its residents?
Surely, the answer is not so direct. Like a game of pick-up-sticks, the cause-effect relationship of a city’s physical composition and its culture is not easily untangled. To view the culture of a metropolis as a mere product of its urban environment is surely reductive, a gross simplification the inherently complex urban environment. True, urbanists today increasingly understand cities as physical manifestations of culture, concrete remnants of intangible flows of capital, people, and values. Yet, surely, there is a complex feedback loop at play: the urban environment, conceived (at least historically) by its own inhabitants, goes on to influence coming generations of city-dwellers, who in turn build and modify their environment, and enact yet further influence of successive generations.
Should we permit cities like Los Angeles to function in their current state, to impart their consumerist values on millions of city-dwellers? Their lack of public space, and emphasis on never-ending consumption, sends one resounding message to inhabitants: “buy and be happy.” Surely automobile-, consumer-, and image-centric lifestyles are socially undesirable, yet the urban fabric of Los Angeles, though its composition and organization, implicitly imparts such lifestyle influences on residents. How can architects and urbanists intervene to right this wrong?