"Coffee or tea?" is one of those phrases that follows you across contexts: asked on airplanes, after a meal, in hotel lounges, and in meeting rooms. It sounds like a small question—mere preference, a quick fork in the service script. Yet it also carries a quiet cultural inheritance. Tea arrives with the long history of ritual and domestic pacing, tied to older geographies of trade and everyday etiquette. Coffee arrives with a different lineage of circulation, later industrialized into the modern café and its public-facing rituals. In both cases, the drink is never only a drink; it is a practiced relationship to time and space.
In contemporary East Asia, however, "coffee or tea" increasingly reads as something else: imperceptibly or subconsciously, it is becoming more of a choice about where you want to be. Each beverage now carries a spatial expectation. Coffee implies a room you can occupy—often a place to pause, work, meet, or cool down. Tea, despite being culturally pervasive, appears more diffusely across the city—sometimes as a dedicated destination, sometimes as a high-frequency kiosk, and very often as an embedded default within dining typologies. The result is that a question posed as taste has begun to operate as a subtle indicator of spatial preference: whether you are seeking duration or velocity, enclosure or flow, a third place or a quick node on the street.
If elevated networks reveal a city that increasingly walks above the street, the podium–tower is the typology that often makes that condition feel inevitable. Across Southeast Asia, podium–tower projects have become one of the dominant languages of metropolitan growth: a system that concentrates housing, jobs, retail, and transit connections into highly legible and managed parcels. From an urban planning perspective, the model can be remarkably effective—absorbing congestion, formalizing circulation, and delivering density quickly. Yet as it spreads, the typology also raises a quieter question: what does it optimize for, and what does it erode—especially at the level of the street, where urban life is meant to be negotiated rather than curated?
At its simplest, the podium–tower is a hybrid structure consisting of a high-coverage, low-rise podium supporting one or more slender vertical towers. The podium typically carries the logistical and commercial weight of the development—retail, parking, loading, drop-offs, back-of-house services, and often amenity decks—while the tower stacks private programs above, whether residential, office, hotel, or mixed use. The promise is twofold: maximize urban density while maintaining a "human-scaled" street wall, and separate the messy logistics of city life from the quieter domain of living and work.
Coastal development in major cities has long been a terrain of opportunity and contention—shaped at once by the pursuit of capital (premium views, scarce land, and the promise of reclamation), by civic demands for public access and collective waterfront life, and by contemporary aspirations for sustainability and place-defining urban identity. Precisely because these agendas rarely align, extracting the full potential of waterfront sites is never straightforward.
Yet in New York City and Hong Kong, we can trace each city's ambitions—despite differing strategies, priorities, and political logics—through a set of keystone projects that anchor their coastlines. Read together, these projects reveal not only what each city chooses to value, but also what it is willing to trade off in order to build at the edge.
Across cities worldwide, architecture unfolds continuously at the scale of people and community—not only through new buildings, renovations, or monumental works. "Third spaces" are especially revealing. Consider the street-side culinary realm: how seating, serving, and lingering occupy the edge of the street often discloses a city's cultural codes and spatial habits. What forms of dining and inhabitation have emerged in response to local climate, regulation, and social custom—and how have they evolved over time?
In parts of Europe, for instance, al fresco in Italy and en terrasse in France name culturally specific ways of dining in public, drawing the meal into the urban field—attuned to weather, air, and the passive sociability of people-watching. Since COVID-19, New York City has similarly expanded outdoor dining, reflecting a community-driven desire to engage the streetscape while eating—an everyday, street-level "third place" within a dense metropolis.
From forest-inspired offices in Sweden to jungle-nest clubhouses in Tulum, mixed-use architecture continues to evolve as a tool for integrated living. As cities grow and our expectations of public, private, and commercial space shift, designers are increasingly rethinking how different functions including work, play, rest, learning, can coexist in a single architectural language. These projects suggest that buildings and projects no longer need to silo activities, but rather choreograph them to reflect the rhythms of everyday life.
This collection, submitted by the ArchDaily community, presents a global spectrum of approaches to mixed-use design, from large-scale masterplans to conceptual theses. What ties them together is a commitment to spatial overlap, ecological sensitivity, and reimagined programs that prioritize user experience. Whether it's a student dormitory in Tehran, a public plaza in Cairo, or a community hub in Texas, each project embraces complexity to create spaces that are alive with interaction, transformation, and meaning.
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.
Urban mobility in the United States has seen a radical transformation with the introduction of ridesharing services in the late 2000s. The widespread adoption of services such as Uber and Lyft has altered the way citizens move around cities, offering convenience, flexibility, and accessibility like never before. The innovative business model that excels at designing for individual users failed to foresee larger implications at the scale of the city - congestion, public transit systems, and car ownership. While European countries such as Brussels have pledged to encourage public transportation to curb traffic congestion issues, American cities hunt for solutions of their own.
Graffiti, as an art form, has a complex relationship with gentrification. On one hand, it has engaged the streets and urban fabric as a canvas for people to express themselves culturally and socio-politically. This expression could be a form of rebellion by ethnic minorities and disadvantaged groups in certain neighborhoods, or it can build up a sense of cultural uniqueness and social expression, giving a neighborhood a positive character and attracting newcomers. However, over the years, the latter has been an agent of gentrification, spiking up property values to accommodate richer residents and alienating the native communities of those neighborhoods.
In certain instances, artists recognize their role in this urban scheme and tweak their art form through its style, message, location, and action as direct forms of protest to fight against gentrification. From Brixton, Shoreditch, and Hackney in London, Williamsburg and Bushwick in New York, to The Canal Saint-Denis and Belleville in Paris, the use of graffiti on the streetscapes of these neighborhoods can either protest or inspire different forms of development.
The simple activity of taking a walk in the evening can easily turn from a relaxing leisurely activity to a dangerous endeavor by removing just one element from the streetscape: public lighting. While not often recognized as defining aspect of urban environments, artificial illumination has played an essential role in defining the character of modern cities. Crime control, the appeal of nightlife, the rise of the shop window, revolutionary movements, utopias, and ideals of social equity are all concepts whose development is tightly linked to the history of public lighting. Technological advancements over the past centuries have continuously shaped the appearance and symbolism of streetlamps. Still, the this element has remains a constant throughout its history.
A famous skyline can evoke rich associations and unleash imagination, but the real experience of a city is in its streets. Early humans evolved to see the first 20 feet in front, above, and around them so they could identify potential threats in the landscape. In our modern urban environment, this is still how we experience buildings and places. While aerial views and Google Earth imagery are useful for reference, the main experience of the outside of a building is what we pass by on the street, up to about the second or third story. The height of a building doesn’t necessarily matter if the street experience is rich and accessible.
https://www.archdaily.com/990889/activating-the-edges-how-to-create-lively-active-streetsAmanda Loper, Daniel Simons, David Baker
Last week, the Global Designing Cities Initiative (GDCI) released Designing Streets for Kids to set a new global baseline for designing urban streets. Designing Streets for Kids builds upon the approach of putting people first, with a focus on the specific needs of babies, children, and their caregivers as pedestrians, cyclists, and transit users in urban streets around the world.
Cyclist and pedestrians on London Bridge, London, UK, River Thames and Tower Bridge on the background. Image via Shutterstock/ By Alena Veasey
After Milan and Paris, London has announced its plans to transform large areas in the city, converting streets to car-free zones, as the coronavirus lockdown loosens up. Repurposing the city for people, London aims to emerge differently from the pandemic, supporting a low-carbon and sustainable recovery. Works have already started and are expected to be completed within six weeks.
PARIS, FRANCE March 22th 2020 : The Cyclist with medical mask on Champs Elysées empty during the period of containment measures due to the Covid-19 Coronavirus. Image via Shutterstock/ By Frederic Legrand - COMEO
Paris, just like Milan, is planning on keeping its streets car-free after the coronavirus lockdown. Mayor Anne Hidalgo announced plans to maintain the anti-pollution and anti-congestion measures introduced during the confinement period, as the city reopens.
The city of Milan has announced its Strade Aperte plan or “Open streets” plan that favors pedestrians and cyclists over cars. In order to reduce car usage, the Lombardy area will repurpose 35km of roads, over the summer, after the coronavirus lockdown, transforming them into people-friendly streets.
As you may know, things aren't going too well for mother earth. With challenges like deforestation, fires, pollution, and even methane from cows we are facing an uphill battle against climate change.
