This week, Lyft announced that it is going to be selling its autonomous vehicle division to Toyota for some $550 million. (Apparently $200 million of this will be paid upfront, with the remaining $350 million paid out over a five year period.) This is notable because Uber did the exact same thing last year when it sold its autonomous vehicle business to Aurora (which happens to be working with Toyota), and because the reasons for selling seem clear: getting to full autonomy is going to cost a bunch more money and both Uber and Lyft are determined to reach profitability sooner rather than later.
The other thing that you might be able to glean from these announcements is that neither company seemingly feels like they need to fully own/control the autonomous piece. Presumably the thinking is that someone else can spend the money on developing full autonomy and they'll just stick to building out their ride-hailing network. Once we have autonomous taxis, they'll need a network to run on anyway, right? I guess. But wouldn't this dramatically undermine the network effects of Uber and Lyft?
If you go back to Uber's S-1, there was a diagram that explained Uber's "liquidity network effect." See above. It starts with more drivers and more supply (1), because more cars driving around means that wait times and fares are lower (2) and so more people are likely to use Uber (3). Network size matters. But if you no longer have drivers -- only autonomous vehicles -- isn't it relatively easy to add more supply to any network? I suppose this partially depends on how the ownership structure will end up working for these autonomous taxis. Still, I wonder about the barriers to entry under this scenario.
The web in its current state is like a city without public spaces. People can only interact in places owned by someone else, and a small group of landlords captures an oversized share of all economic activity. - Dror Poleg
I would encourage you all to read Dror Poleg's recent article called, " The Token Society: Cryptocurrencies will change the way we work, live, and love ." It's an interesting read, particularly for us urbanists. Poleg starts with urban history. He first talks about how the emergence of industrial cities allowed for new divisions of labor. The example he gives is that of the quatorzième , which is a job that emerged in Parisian society sometime in the late 19th century. The job of a quatorzième was literally to be the 14th person at dinners and functions. Since a headcount of 13 was thought to be bad luck, it was important to be able to call on someone at a moment's notice to fill this critically important role. While this probably seems silly in today's context -- I mean, who goes out anymore? -- it was a real thing and it was a thing that the modern city was suddenly able to provide. Poleg goes on to thread this idea all the way through to today. Web 2.0 enabled a new sharing economy and much larger digital communities (though note the quote at the top of this post). However, we're nowhere near done yet. Web 3.0 is going to, in his words, enable "the finalization [or tokenization] of all human activity." Welcome to the new token society.
P.S. I'm by no means an expert on cryptocurrencies. I have just been watching from afar for the past several years. But over the last few months, it has been hard not to pay attention to what is happening with NFTs and the Ethereum network. And I'm not just talking about the price of ETH (which is up ~56% over the last month alone). I am now of the opinion that we are seeing one of the first mainstream use cases emerge on top of a blockchain network. And yes, I believe it will also change our cities.
This morning I came across this beautiful photo by @callicles of the 11th in Paris. After admiring it for a few moments, I then immediately tweeted it out with the above caption: "It's okay to put buildings close together." Because here's the thing about this photo: It represents one of the great paradoxes of city building. When most people look at this photo, I suspect that they will find it beautiful. They will like the mid-rise architecture and they will like the quaint European-scaled streets. But despite its fairly universal appeal, very few cities are able to build this way today. It's often not allowed. So instead what people do is travel to Europe in the summer, sit in cafes, admire the architecture and urban design, and then lament the fact that we don't build cities like we used to.
What is it that makes this intersection so inviting? Well, the buildings are tight up against each other. I'm guessing that the right-of-ways (ROWs) in this picture are maybe 6-9 m wide. There are no building setbacks or stepbacks to speak of, save and except for the penthouse floors which taper back slightly. And so all of the spaces in these buildings would likely have some sort of direct facing condition with their opposing neighbors (but partially mitigated by the fact that these aren't all glass buildings). The ratio of ROW to building height is, I'm guessing, something like 1:4, which, at the end of the day, is a large part of the reason why these streets feel so intimate and inviting. The buildings frame the streets and public realm.
What I just described breaks many of the guidelines that I suspect many of you in the industry are accustomed to following. In our world, the streets should be wider to allow for adequate fire and service vehicle access. The buildings should stepback to allow light to reach the sidewalks, to mitigate impacts on any surrounding single-family homes, and to provision for sky views. Here in Toronto, the midrise guidelines also stipulate that buildings should have a ROW to building height ratio that is closer to 1:1. Though to be fair this guidance is often rightly broken. But the truth remains, we generally don't build like this anymore. Why is that?
It's not because we can't do it. We certainly could. We are, for whatever reasons, choosing not to. Is it because we're bad at understanding what we actually like and what makes for great cities? Is it because what we end up liking is a bit counterintuitive? My unproven and untested theory is that it is at least partially the result of an approach to planning that is defensive -- instead of offensive -- in nature. We plan around and bow completely to existing contexts. We plan to mitigate impacts. We plan to satisfy some very individualistic concerns about how cities and neighborhoods should be built. For better or for worse, we plan to piss off the least amount of people. Politics also play an outsized role.
What is far less common to think about is how to plan offensively. The fact of the matter is that the Paris we all love today pissed off a lot of people when it was being constructed. The approach was top-down and hugely disruptive. It ignored and completely erased much of the city's previous urban context. Artists at the time, and probably many others, despised the new regularity of Paris' street wall buildings. They longed for the old hodgepodge of medieval blocks and the visual variety that they created. But today, it's hard not to think of this offensive move as anything but visionary. Of course, there are also countless examples of top-down offenses turning out terribly bad for cities.
Perhaps the right approach, then, is to simply start being more deliberate about introducing elements of planning offense. My friend David Wex of Urban Capital likes to remind me that Montreal is a city with grandeur and that Toronto, for the most part, is a city without it. So as I have argued before, over here , I think it's time we rethink our approach. Instead of just worrying about things like shadow impacts and angular planes (defensive), we should also be asking ourselves offensive questions. How refreshing would it be to sit down in a project meeting and have someone ask: "Okay, but does this design contribute to the overall grandeur and beauty of our city?"
And maybe once we take this new perspective, we'll come to the conclusion that sometimes it's okay to put buildings close together.
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Daily insights for city builders. Published since 2013 by Toronto-based real estate developer Brandon Donnelly.
