Via City Comforts a great article from Wired Magazine in 1995, which takes a science fiction like look at the future of some of the more unlikely candidates for building conversion.
When the first big, regional, enclosed malls start to become obsolete, the historic preservationists stampede to their rescue. Like the old movie houses of the 1930s, these malls of the '70s and '80s are incredible palaces, built when price was no object. The layers of marble and gilt, the Amazon-like gardens and three-story computerized fountains and waterfalls, the amazingly sophisticated lighting systems designed to create different moods for every hour of the day.... They will never be seen again. They have to be saved!
As what, though?
University officials realize these structures would make great campuses. The anchors, where Macy's and Nordstrom and Sears used to sell goods, become excellent lecture halls seating thousands of students. The smaller shops are turned into more conventional classrooms. The three-story-high promenades in the center make fine places for students to flirt.
The most elaborate of these regional malls are known as gallerias. They are originally marked by office high-rises poking through the middle and hotels bolted onto the sides of the mall. The office towers, of course, become the administration buildings - quaintly called Old Main - and the hotels make swanky dorms.
Outside, goal posts rise from the acreage originally cleared for development that was never built. Nearby office buildings no longer prestigious enough for their intended purpose are turned into rollicking group houses with the skull of the Grateful Dead, that antiquated symbol of defiance, at the top of the tower.
It's a bleaker future for the great suburban subdivisions though:
In the medium future, history seems to be going Irvine's way. The market for its walled burbclaves - featuring homes painted only in variations on the color of Caucasian skin - booms. So what if the $400,000 Spanish townhouses with their tiled roofs are so indistinguishable that the easiest way to find yours is to hold down the button of the garage-door remote until it makes a panel open?
So what if the neighborhood shadow-government, which rules with an iron fist in the innocuous name of community association, can control the color you choose for your front door or your living-room curtains? So what if it can prohibit washing your car in your own driveway or regulate what size dog you own?
This seems like a small price to pay in a period when uncertainty swirls and security - physical, financial, and moral - is at a premium.
How then, does Irvine come to ruin? Why do vines climb the elevator shafts and plywood sheath the windows?
Adaptation.
Irvine tries to prevent it. But over the course of a raucous century, Irvine goes downhill. First, the comptrollers of corporate America can't stand to alter their corporate palaces in Irvine. Put in a fireplace to make an office more homey? Retrofit a building with windows that open? Forget accomplishing that kind of radical change quickly in Irvine. If it's not in the plan, it's anarchy.
People interested in getting on with their everyday lives, meanwhile, find it simpler to live and work in less authoritarian edge cities. It's not that people don't love the safety and security of the walls that surround them in Irvine. It's just that as their lives change - as they marry, have children, retire, or become empty nesters - they have to move on because the plan for Irvine will not. People find it simpler to move than to fight, and the resistance movement that arises briefly is crushed by fines and foreclosures.
With the benefit of hindsight, people in the far-term future now view it as obvious that cities are not clockwork, but living organisms following the rules of biology. To thrive, cities must be able to evolve ingeniously. They must be able to adapt quickly to a changing environment.
Its a great article and well worth reading - thanks David for bringing it forward.
In some ways this is the world of William Gibson, but it also brings to mind a great article by Cedric Price, Peter Hall, Paul Barker and Reyner Banham, called Non-Plan, published in the much missed magazine New Society in 1969.
It isn't available on line as far as I can tell, but the next chance I have to get into a university library, I'm going to look it up again. I remember on reading it, the mixture of horror and fascination it evoked. I'd love to see a modern reworking.