Recently, I was asked to weigh in on the current conversation sparked by this piece that called into question Richard Florida’s Creative Class Theory and the subsequent response from Mr. Florida. One of the underlying issues the interaction brings up is how a place can have all the right things on a placemaker’s checklist and people show up there and still not love it. As Mr. Bures states in Thirty Two:
“…this brought us to Madison, Wisconsin. It wasn’t too far from our families. It had a stellar reputation. And for the Midwest, it possessed what might pass for cachet. It was liberal and open-minded. It was a college town. It had coffee shops and bike shops. Besides, it had been deemed a “Creative Class” stronghold by Richard Florida…”
Here’s the thing. I’m going to say it, because it’s a critical point. You can go to a city that you should love and find that you just don’t. Just because the city is welcoming, invests heavily in public art, has a great downtown, prides itself on its parks, and innovates to attract young talent doesn’t mean that everybody that shows up there (even a placemaking disciple) is going to love it.
Because all places are not, should not, and cannot be the same.
The Knight Soul of the Community Project found that social offerings, aesthetics and openness matter most in attaching people to where they live. But just having those things is not enough. It is the city’s unique interpretation of those aspects of a place that draws you in and connects you (or not) to the city’s soul or identity as a place. And you just know when it happens for you.
Take me for example. I just moved from Miami back to my home state of North Carolina. I lived in Miami for 10 years. I gave it every shot, but I couldn’t sustain attachment to it really. And no one could argue that Miami doesn’t have all the requirements on paper to be a great place to live by the placemaker’s standards: social offerings, openness and aesthetics out the wazoo. And goodness knows I want to live in a place that adheres to the placemaking best practice model.
Yet, it didn’t work for me, especially now, as the parent of a 5 year old. I needed a different take on social offerings, openness and aesthetics. I needed less high-rise building living and more neighborhood for my aesthetics. I needed less party all night on South Beach and more farmers market for my social offerings. I needed not as much 10,000 languages being spoken and more hometown civility for my openness.
Which brings me to this. Even when you are attached to the place, it doesn’t mean you love everything about it or you love everything much more than other residents who aren’t attached to it. In the Knight Soul Project, we found the difference between attached and not attached residents is their ratings of social offerings, openness and aesthetics. Both groups rate safety, for example, similarly. So in that case we are pretty comfortable in saying that perception of social offerings, openness and aesthetics about a place drive attachment versus when you’re attached you just love everything about the place – because that just doesn’t seem to be the case.
I’m always asked for examples of what other places are doing, and I keep a ready supply. (Keep me posted of what I should know about by emailing me here.) But I always start by saying: “These ideas are for inspiration not replication.” We just can’t look on each other’s paper in doing placemaking. We have to do our own work. Because unless a placemaking idea is adapted for our particular place, it can feel, well, out of place (pun intended) to residents.
Instead ask the question: what is our city’s unique take on social offerings, aesthetics, or community culture of openness? And to do that, you need to know the identity and narrative of your place. But that’s another blog…
At the end end of the day there is a certain fishy element to “place” for some people. Like salmon, some people are drawn back to the river they are born in, maybe its family & friends, the natural environment, or maybe its some genetic marker, who knows.