Architecture Beyond Fashion

Over the years, I have noticed an interesting pattern. An architect and a marketer can look at
exactly the same project while seeing two completely different challenges.

A marketer naturally thinks about first impressions. What will a prospective buyer notice when
visiting the project's website for the first time? What will stay in their memory after browsing the
brochure? What will make this particular development stand out among dozens of others?

An architect asks a very different question. What will this building be like twenty years from
now? Whether the façade still looks new is actually the easy part. The real challenge is
understanding whether the architecture itself will remain convincing after trends have faded, the
excitement of novelty has disappeared, and people no longer notice the details that once created
such a powerful first impression.

There is no conflict between these two perspectives. Marketing helps people discover a project.
Architecture ensures they still feel they made the right decision many years later.

To me, this is where one of the most important distinctions between real estate marketing and
architecture lies. Marketing sells the promise of a future life. Architecture is responsible for
making sure that promise proves true.

After more than twenty years in the profession, I have come to understand something else. The
most challenging client is not the one who asks to reduce the construction budget. It is the one
who says, "Make it fashionable."

At first glance, there seems to be nothing wrong with that request. Architecture should always
reflect its own time. New materials, technologies and ideas are what move the profession
forward. It would make little sense to design contemporary buildings exactly as they were
designed a century ago.

The problem begins when fashion stops being a tool and becomes the objective. Residential
buildings are designed to last for decades, while architectural trends rarely survive nearly as
long.

Just look at buildings completed twenty or thirty years ago. Many of them remain technically
excellent, yet their architecture immediately reveals the era in which they were conceived. Not
because they were poorly designed, but because too many of their defining features were shaped
by whatever happened to be fashionable at the time.

Perhaps the most important question an architect should ask is not, "Does this building look
contemporary enough?" A far better question is, "Will this building still feel natural,
timeless and dignified when today's trends have long disappeared?"

An architect cannot ignore the present, but must always remember that architecture will outlive
fashion. The best projects are never created by chasing trends. They are created by designing
buildings that retain their character and relevance long after those trends have been forgotten.

From the outside, architecture often appears to be a profession driven by constant creativity and
an endless search for new ideas. In reality, a significant part of an architect's work consists of
something quite different: knowing when to leave things out.

Another decorative feature. Another unusual form. Another detail that looks spectacular in a
rendering but does little to improve the way people actually live.

Rejecting an eye-catching idea is often more difficult than inventing one. Young architects
frequently feel the need to make a project more complex, more original and more noticeable.
With experience comes a different understanding: true sophistication lies in removing everything
that is unnecessary and preserving only what genuinely makes the building better.

Every architectural element should serve a purpose. It may respond to the local climate, improve
the proportions of the building, shape natural light or simply make everyday life more
comfortable. But if its only purpose is to attract attention in a marketing visualisation, it will
almost certainly lose its relevance over time.

That is why one of the most important phrases in an architect's vocabulary is not "Let's add this."
It is "Let's not do that."

With experience comes a simple realisation. Good architecture is defined not by the number of
ideas it contains, but by the discipline to remove those that add nothing essential. To me, that is
one of the clearest signs of architectural maturity.

We rarely think about it, but truly well-designed things share one important quality: they become
so natural to use that we eventually stop noticing them. A perfectly tailored jacket never distracts
from the person wearing it. After a few minutes, you no longer think about the fabric, the cut or
the colour. You simply get on with your day.

I believe good architecture works in much the same way.

When people buy a home, they pay close attention to the façade, the landscaping, the floor plans
and every carefully designed detail. Yet before long, those things inevitably fade into the

background. The building stops being an object of evaluation and simply becomes the place
where everyday life unfolds.

People stop talking about architecture. They come home after work, have breakfast with their
families, walk their children to school, meet friends, read a book on the balcony or open a
window to let in the evening air. That is the moment when it becomes clear whether the architect
has truly done their job well.

First impressions matter, but they can never be the ultimate measure of quality. It is far more
difficult to design a home that will never begin to feel tiring after years of living in it. A home
that does not grow old because it was never created merely to impress, but to make everyday life
calmer, easier and more comfortable.

Perhaps that is why I have never believed architecture should constantly remind people of itself.
If, ten years later, residents are still admiring the façade every single day, perhaps the façade is
demanding too much attention. Truly successful architecture gradually becomes almost
invisible—not because it lacks character, but because it fits so naturally into people's lives.
To me, that is the highest compliment an architect can receive: not to create a building that
attracts admiration during its first months, but a home where people still enjoy living twenty
years later.

When we began designing Zen Gardens, our goal was never to create a project that would look
impressive only today. We wanted to build a home that would retain its quiet confidence even as
architectural fashions changed, new materials emerged and today's definition of contemporary
design inevitably evolved.

That is why many of our decisions are intentionally restrained. We chose to focus on proportion,
natural light, the quality of materials, human scale and the relationship between the building and
its surroundings rather than chasing dramatic forms that capture attention quickly but age just as
quickly.

After more than twenty years in architecture, I have come to a simple conclusion. Fashion
changes. Good buildings remain.

That is why I have always been drawn to architecture that does not try too hard to be admired.
Architecture that respects time.

Architecture beyond fashion.