Achieving this climate is not a simple feat. Cities are highly complex and complicated clockworks and to create a thriving urban environment several factors—some of which are independent, some of which are interacting—have to fall into place. Nevertheless, for cities and city life to improve and progress urban planning efforts should commit to this challenge.

As an urbanist having lots of conversations about developing and improving urban spaces and urban life, I often encounter a mindset that I believe holds us back in our quest to achieve wise cities. I have seen it being displayed in many situations, among city hall officials, developers and various interest groups consisting of engaged urban dwellers. It is a mindset characterised by binary views and false dichotomies, in regard to what cities are and how they work. As this characterisation might come across as harsh, I want to stress that I don’t believe it stems from ill will or bad intentions. I do believe, however, that seeing and thinking about complex and complicated phenomena in “black-or-white” and “either-or” ways sometimes is more cognitively convenient than doing so in more nuanced and balanced ways. Unfortunately, in urbanism just as in many other fields, binary views tend to drive polarised stances and make it harder to have fruitful discussions and form a shared vision. As fruitful discussions and shared visions are necessary for achieving wise cities, changing this mindset is crucial.

Over the next pages, I will touch on five dimensions where binary views and false dichotomies limit us, and discuss a more fluid understanding in our striving to create more wise cities.

One: Urban vs. rural

There is a notion that the urban typology is (and has to be) fundamentally different and in many ways separated from the rural typology, meaning that a densely populated built environment cannot be similar to the countryside or nature. To some, it seems, the city and the countryside are each other’s typological mutually exclusive opposites.

As cities have evolved throughout the centuries, there have been other priorities than proximity to greenery and farming opportunities in the urban landscape. For instance, defence from outside threats, industrial capabilities, mobility, convenience of consumption and cultural experiences have had higher priority. As many cities have grown bigger and denser, they have become less green and in a sense moved farther away from nature. For each step of this process—as various gravitational forces have pulled people, functions and resources more tightly together—greenery and farming seem to have been slowly expelled from the urban landscape.

This has likely shaped our notions of the urban typology —what a city is and should be. As archaeologist Monica L. Smith points out in her remarkable book Cities: The First 6 000 Years,¹ although cities “only” (I guess with an archaeologist’s frame of reference) have been around for 6 000 years the urban concept has become so ingrained in our consciousness that we have absorbed expected behaviours without even being aware of it. She notes:

“We know people don’t grow their own food or keep animals in their houses, so we don’t think to look for a feed store or cattle barn in an urban place: a city means a place where food is already prepared for us to eat, whether in the form of restaurants, food stalls, or itinerant vendors. We know that people in a city get their water from tap and not from a bucket dipped into a river, even if the river is nearby. Accordingly, we look around at the architecture to see the locales where we’re most likely to get a drink, wash our hands, or use a restroom.”

In our minds, cities have evolved as something different from nature: human-made entities that are placed in nature rather than part of nature.

In his 2019 masterpiece Origins: How the Earth Shaped Human History,² biologist and Professor of Science Communication Lewis Dartnell discusses how closely intertwined our human habitats are with the nature around and beneath them. As he frames a key point in the book:

“We not only build our cities within the landscape – near the coastline, in a fertile river valley or close to hills with mineral resources – but we also make them of the landscape.… The story of civilisation is the story of humanity digging up the fabric of the planet beneath our feet and piling it up to build our cities.”

Showing that cities certainly are part of nature, not an entity distinctly separated from it, Dartnell eloquently elaborates on their intimate relationship with the natural environments they have emerged from, for instance in regard to urban life and values—even down to voting patterns in political elections.

Interestingly, the differences between dense cities and rural areas are becoming less prominent. Over the last decades, urban farming initiatives have exploded in cities all over the world. From Singapore to Stockholm, Seoul to Sao Paulo, rooftops to an increasing extent look like lush meadows with birds and butterflies, and facades often resemble dense forests with climbing plants. There are both small-scale initiatives such as individuals growing vegetables in communal gardens they share with their neighbours, and large-scale ventures such as extensive urban farming solutions for commercial purposes and biodiverse high-density urban micro-forests.

Looking at many progressive urban planning projects today, the glossy renderings reveal a vision of the future city as an urban landscape infused with greenery and agricultural spaces. The perceived typological border between urban and rural is dissolving.

In my experience working with development of identities for physical spaces, I have noticed a significantly increased interest in creating urban places inspired by the countryside. One recent example of this is an urban commercial centre in Espoonlahti, west of Helsinki, Finland. Wedged between urban and rural areas, with proximity to both a dense metropolitan centre and a vast farmland and archipelago, the place has been mainly urban in its identity and ambitions. Our studies, however, showed a much stronger identification with the countryside and archipelago among the people using the place. Thus, by grounding the place (its identity) in the agricultural and archipelagic landscapes and cultures, it can become more relatable and aspirational for its users—allowing them to form stronger connections to it.

Infused with nature and fully appreciative of their intimate relationships with it, I believe wise cities are both densely urban and densely green.

Two: Shiny vs. scrappy

There is no lack of imaginative visions of what future cities will look like. These visions exist within many fields and come in many forms; we encounter them both in methodologically structured speculative urban foresight efforts and in purely fantasy-based artistic expressions such as films and novels.

Looking at these visions, future cities often tend to be one of two things: either they are desirable dreams with vibrant and exuberant urban landscapes, or dark dystopias with squalid and neglected city blocks.

“With cities, it is as with dreams: everything imaginable can be dreamed, but even the most unexpected dream is a rebus that conceals a desire or, its reverse, a fear.” – Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

The desirable dreams typically consist of stunningly beautiful urban landscapes filled with greenery, natural materials and spectacular mint-condition buildings. Streets are airy and pedestrians seem calm and friendly. The overall urban narrative manifests the notion of a progressive, innovative and sustainable society. These scenarios often stem from our hopes for the future, and our ideas of what the society—particularly cities—need to do and be in order to prosper. In a fictive contemporary pop-culture reference, the Wakandian capital of Birnin Zana could be a suitable example (from Marvel’s Black Panther franchise).

The dark dystopias typically depict cities as gloomy, unsafe and over-populated. They are often characterised by run-down buildings and out-of-control traffic. Streets are either crowded and hostile, or empty and eerie. The overall urban narrative reveals a discouraging and pessimistic view of where the world is headed. These scenarios tend to stem from our fears about how society (or specifically cities) is developing. The corresponding fictive pop-culture reference would probably be the imagined future Los Angeles in the 1982 film Blade Runner (as envisioned by Ridley Scott and Syd Mead).

Evidently, one of these two visions is a profoundly optimistic and positive one, while the other is its highly pessimistic and negative counterpart. The future, however, rarely turns out to be one of two one-dimensional outcomes; it will probably be something more complex. Not only are binary dreamy-or-dystopian scenarios quite useless, as neither of them is likely to come true, but there is another problem.

Cities have become cultural, social and economic powerhouses, their gravitational pull is immense as the world is being steadily urbanised. Entirely new neighbourhoods are being developed in most major cities, and old neighbourhoods are being revitalised and densified with new architectural additions.

We live and work in a paradigm often referred to as the creative economy, a notion popularised by renowned urbanist Richard Florida in his groundbreaking The Rise of the Creative Class.³ In this paradigm, new ideas are paramount for progress and growth and cities are the farmlands of creativity. In her trailblazing and seminal 1961 book The Death and Life of Great American Cities,⁴ iconic urban thinker Jane Jacobs points out that cities –the actual urban fabric–need to facilitate diversity to enable creativity and innovation to flourish. As she so eloquently puts it: “New thinking requires old buildings”.

Innovative communities need a mix of new and old, gleaming and unpolished, orderly and rough. Neighbourhoods with buildings and places of different types and in varying conditions are more likely to be vibrant and dynamic and to attract a diverse set of people and companies (with different economic abilities),which means they will provide a more fertile soil for new ideas to grow.

We have seen the risks of being too focused on the economic benefits of the immense creative force cities possess. When city leaders focus too much on economic growth and too little on other values and qualities, urban space tends to turn into a commodity—which is devastating for city life. The deeply troubling effects of intense gentrification are all too evident, having afflicted many cities around the world.

In a study I conducted some years ago, we investigated what types of urban environments people in creative industries look for when they decide on where to live and where to work. Although we interviewed people in several creative fields in a handful of neighbourhoods in Stockholm, the focus was the gaming industry and Södermalm (a neighbourhood that, at the time, was said to have the most game developers per capita in the world). The study clearly showed a great interest in living and hanging out in urban areas that are precisely what Jacobs and others had described: unpolished, rough and “unfinished”. Such areas were perceived to be more interesting, fascinating and inspiring than neat and tidy areas, as they stimulate fantasy and stir creativity—which understandably is important for people whose jobs involve creating captivating digital worlds. Furthermore, such areas were perceived to be populated by more interesting people; others who are attracted to things that are odd and unpredictable, and who can share new and unexpected perspectives, insights and stories.

I believe wise cities are progressive and future-facing, harvesting the opportunities that cutting-edge science and technology can grant—and at the same time not obsessed by the new; rather they revere the old, worn-out and tarnished. Striving for an inclusive and sustainable urban landscape, wise cities provide good conditions for diversity and creativity. Understanding the values both the old and the new have for their soul, identity, culture and economy, wise cities are both shiny and scrappy.

Three: Extroverted vs. introverted

In the creative paradigm of today, urban planning is often characterised by a strong focus on spaces that facilitate social interactions—planned as well as serendipitous. Forming networks and exchanging knowledge and ideas with others are key drivers of technological innovation, economic growth and societal progress. Cities, as many urbanists have pointed out, are the primary scenes where such activities take place.

It is no coincidence, nor is it surprising, that most major leaps forward, in regard to scientific breakthroughs, cultural advancements, political movements and technological inventions, have occurred on the urban stage. Cities connect people to a constant flow of knowledge, ideas and other people. Not only that, cities provide a rich diversity of values, perspectives and opinions, which strengthens the creative and innovative capabilities (though it certainly comes with friction).

The evident focus on facilitating social interactions and on enabling tapping into the flow of knowledge, ideas and other people, might cause urban dwellers to think urban life requires a high level of extrovertedness. However, not all people are extroverts—and very few people are extroverted all the time. Some—including people whose brilliant minds the creative industries crave—fear the idea of having to be extensively outgoing.

Most people require some amount of seclusion, introspection and silent reflection throughout the day, to be able to stay creative, well and happy. We need to, at least occasionally, disconnect from the constant flow of knowledge, ideas and other people. To be an open and tolerant environment that cares for and utilises the inherent potential of everyone, cities need to provide spaces for both social interactions and individual seclusion.

In a collaboration with Stockholm-based architectural firm Maestrale, I’m part of a team developing a concept with pod-type spaces where people can disconnect from the constant flow to process all impressions in peace and quiet. The pods utilise the remarkable powers of architecture and art to create the right atmosphere for the mind to cut off the outside world and focus inwards—to reboot and recharge before tapping into the creative flow again. Part of the dense urban landscape in bustling creative hubs, these secluded spaces are available and accessible to urban dwellers in need of a pause from constant impressions—and the outside constitutes an alluring sculpture passers-by can look at or interact with.

I believe wise cities connect people to the constant flow of knowledge, ideas and other people, and help them disconnect from that flow without having to leave the urban space entirely.

Four: Global megacity vs. local small-town

There are certainly differences between large cities and small towns, other than the obvious factors such as population size, physical expanse and density. For instance, values, attitudes and behaviours often differ between them. It is often pointed out that global megacities are more similar to each other than to smaller towns in their respective nations: “London has more in common with Shanghai than with Slough”, as someone put it. The statement is most likely valid for many cities smaller than the Londons and Shanghais of the world as well, and this dynamic is part of a greater shift where political, economic and cultural power and influence move from nations to cities and metropolitan communities—as exhaustively described by urban experts Bruce Katz and Jeremy Nowak in their book The New Localism.⁵

One of several reasons for this shift is that cities manage to take on global challenges more efficiently than nations. As political scientist Benjamin Barber explains in his masterpiece If Mayors Ruled The World,⁶ city leaders tend to be pragmatic rather than political, innovative rather than ideological—making them more likely to actually drive change than national leaders who are more focused on asserting political stances. In many ways, we live in an urban age where our large cities are the key driving force.

Looking at how cities are being planned, however, it is interesting to note that one of recent year’s most prominent trends in urbanism is the notion of the 15-minute city (or some version of it). Essentially, the concept is derived from the idea that cities in which all urban functions, amenities and experiences can be reached within the radius of a short walk or bike ride are better for the well-being of their inhabitants and for overall sustainability.

One consequence of the 15-minute city concept is a strong focus on the social and economic layers of the local neighbourhood, a localism that typically is a key characteristic of small-scale, or human-scale if you will, areas. No matter how big and global a city is, with a 15-minute approach its neighbourhoods will in some ways resemble a small town: it will consist of urban units that people easily can overview, move around in, get to know, grasp and deeply connect with (though the small urban units together might make up a vast metropolitan landscape).

I believe wise cities have qualities from both global megacities and small towns. They have a global mindset and network as well as big city values and behaviours, but at the same time they are characterised by the sense of localism and human scale of a small town.

Five: Top-down vs. bottom-up

“Cities have the capability of providing something for everybody, only because, and only when, they are created by everybody.” – Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life of Great American Cities

Cities are primarily planned, developed and governed top-down. Based on political, cultural or other factors, the strictness and rigidness of the top-down approach may differ, nonetheless, that is how cities typically work. In many ways, they certainly have to work that way, there have to be central governing and coordinating functions to make sure the entire city runs well (not just parts of it).

There are, of course, numerous examples of top-down urban planning gone awry. Perhaps most notably, urban areas planned in the mid-1900s—primarily optimised for car mobility without much consideration for human-scale perspectives and experiences—provide an ample amount of examples of planning that is outright hostile towards human beings.

Such examples are quite extreme and thankfully not as common today. Even when top-down urban planning works well, however, it is evident cities also evolve bottom-up. When city leaders are unaware of or unable to address challenges and issues–or just don’t pay enough attention to them–inhabitants often step in and take matters into their own hands.

In Amsterdam, for instance, it’s not unusual to see beautiful micro-parks spontaneously created by the inhabitants of local neighbourhoods. With a mere wish to make their habitats more liveable and loveable, people spruce up the streetscape by putting out plants and perhaps a chair or a bench. These small urban oases allow anyone to sit down in the public realm to enjoy a coffee or good book surrounded by plants (and other people). They are not planned, implemented or maintained by the municipality; they are a shared responsibility of the neighbourhood.

To touch on an example on a significantly larger scale: Black Rock City often comes up in discussions about bottom-up urbanism. Home to the participatory event Burning Man, the planning, development, maintenance and disassembly of (temporary but recurring) Black Rock City relies heavily on volunteers. Although much of the work is characterised by bottom-up self-organisation, there are some top-down aspects. For instance, legal matters and basic infrastructure efforts are coordinated by a central function, as accommodating a great number of people in a relatively dense habitat requires some level of overview and central coordination.

As both top-down and bottom-up approaches have certain limitations, I believe wise cities need to adopt a “middle-out approach”. This entails involving all key actors of a city in the planning, development and maintenance of it: governing entities working closely together with the city’s inhabitants, local businesses, interest groups and academia. It should be noted that many cities already involve their inhabitants and other parties in various urban planning processes. However, in many of these cases such involvement occurs quite late in processes and the actual impact of said involvement is relatively small. A middle-out approach commences collaborative efforts in the initial explorative discovery phase of the process, and applies them all the way through post-implementation evaluation (to borrow vocabulary from the design thinking framework).

A highly collaborative middle-out approach will render city officials greater understanding of actual problems and effective solutions, and inhabitants will gain a greater sense of ownership and agency since they will have been more deeply involved in framing the problems and developing the solutions.

Finding a balance between top-down and bottom-up might be hard, but the middle is a good place to start. Highly participatory and with the municipality as a facilitator, I propose wise cities are planned and developed middle-out.

Embracing fluidity to achieve wise cities

Striving for wise cities, it’s crucial that we avoid false binaries and dichotomies and embrace a typological fluidity. Being highly multifaceted and multi-dimensional, fluid cities can consist of dense built environment and dense abundant greenery; house shiny and scrappy places side by side; facilitate an intense flow of knowledge and provide space for secluded introspection; have the global let’s-change-the-world attitude of a large city and the sense of localism and human scale of a small town; and operate from the middle-out with a high level of collaboration between all types of actors on the urban arena.

Consisting of more nuances and accommodating both a wider and more granular array of needs, goals and expectations, fluid cities are better suited to foster a climate that sparks happiness, health, well-being and creativity among inhabitants. Being more attuned to the inhabitants, fluid cities more extensively utilise their aggregated potential. Furthermore, I believe fluid cities have a greater capacity to counteract divisive forces and societal friction. Being more open and welcoming to different groups, they are less likely to trigger adversarial stances.

Evidently, there are some obstacles to overcome before we arrive at the wise city. Some of the challenges lie within our own minds; in how we look at cities and what we think cities are and should be. On our journey towards the wise city, I believe one key step—and perhaps it should be the first?—is to embrace typological fluidity and to imagine more urban shapes and forms in between the conventional notions of a city.