Beauty emerges from paradox
What makes a city
beautiful? It’s not its parks and architecture, decorative though they may be.
It’s not the mannequins dressed in high fashion, or the creative window
displays. A city’s beauty comes from its life, from how its structures keep
people teeming on the sidewalks and arterials—pulsing like blood through a
body. A city’s beauty comes about the same way all beauty comes about in
nature: through the unity of apparently opposing phenomena.
“Neighborhood
accommodations for fixed, bodiless, statistical people are accommodations for
instability,” wrote the great observer of cities, Jane Jacobs. In order for a
neighborhood to have staying power, Jacobs thought, the people in it must
constantly change. A city only becomes stable through “a seeming paradox.” That
is, to get a critical mass of people to stay put, a city has to have “fluidity
and mobility of use.” And so the neighborhood itself must change and reorganize
itself in order to keep its people there. Fixedness and change. Healthy cities
exemplify such paradoxes.
Cities are also
products of attraction and repulsion. These forces somehow find balance.
Identical businesses may repel each other, but similar businesses can attract
each other. You won’t typically find two hair salons next to each other, for
example, but it’s not uncommon to find a nail salon, a shoe store, and a
clothing store in proximity. Why do fast food restaurants attract each other?
And why do malls seem to keep their distance? A glance at any online map will
show the shopping malls in an area to be roughly the same distance apart—close
enough to each other to reduce transportation costs, far enough away to reduce
competition. The presence of a mall, in turn, attracts more shopping and more
restaurants nearby. These forces of attraction and repulsion work together to
create a city’s textures, its amenities, and its strange centers of
activity.
Another apparent
contradiction Jacobs finds in cities lies in their ability to reconcile the
dweller’s desire for both the private and the social: “A good city street
neighborhood achieves a marvel between its people’s determination to have
essential privacy and their simultaneous wishes for differing degrees of
contact, enjoyment or help from the people around.”
These public
places foster weaker social bonds and, thus, create the conditions for a public
life. Weak bonds are the social forces created by private citizens who shuffle
and cluster on the neighborhood street. It’s the morning nod to the Bangladeshi
man who minds his newsstand each day. It’s thirty seconds of sports banter with
the doorman at work. We end up being far more social when our weak bonds
dominate our more clannish instincts—such as the bonds that hold together
street gangs or let whole nations tolerate ethnic cleansing. Of course family
and friendship bonds are strong, but it’s not clear it’s healthy to extend
these to the wider society. Because we ultimately choose our bonds, a healthy
mix of weak and strong bonds will originate in all the choices cities can provide.
And such bonds will change with one’s needs.
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