Wealth Over Virtue

The urban experience is not monolithic—it varies dramatically from one part of the world to another, reflecting the underlying economic systems, societal norms, and cultural values. Having journeyed across several cities in recent years, I've been struck by the stark contrast in how public spaces are shaped by consumer economies, particularly between Europe and North America.

Zygmunt Bauman, in his book ‘Liquid Modernity’, pulls from several authors’ ideas about how modern cities have effectively been overrun by the consumer economy.

Urban spaces are a tapestry of cultures and co-habitation, but to make better sense of it let’s take a deeper look at two types: non-places and spaces of consumption. Non-places, including airports, motorways, and public transport, are areas meant for transience, not permanence. They accommodate temporary occupants, attempting to make them feel 'at home' without fostering a sense of settlement or personal identity. The design and ethos of non-places work to suppress individual idiosyncrasies, thereby rendering their occupants socially absent even while they are physically present.

In contrast, spaces of consumption such as concert halls, shopping malls, and cafeterias actively transform city residents into consumers. They are venues where individuals share physical space, often engaging in similar activities, but lack meaningful social interaction. The focus here is on individual actions—purchases and consumption—not interpersonal exchanges. Interaction is deemed a distraction from the primary task of consuming.

It all comes down to civility. As Bauman puts it:

“What does it mean, though, for the urban environment to be 'civil', and so to be a site hospitable to the individual practice of civility? It means, first and foremost, the provision of spaces which people may share as public personae without being nudged, cajoled to take off their masks and 'let themselves go', pressed to ‘express themselves', confess their inner feelings and put on display their intimate thoughts, dreams and worries.”

In other words, this so-called “mask” we all put on to cohabitate with one another actually becomes an act of engagement and participation as opposed to noncommitment. Without it, all hell would break loose.

Yet, we’re seeing a push in Western countries to have its citizens remove this mask and make their private lives become part of the public. It started in the 20th century with talk shows, and has since been taken to a new stratosphere with social media. This shift is crucial to understand the consumer economy we’re living in postmodern times. This phenomenon was a major opportunity for brands to latch on to their consumers’ biggest insecurities and aspirations, building a tapestry that goes beyond the digital, and deep into the physical spaces in which we congregate.

By looking at how cities differ across the north Atlantic, we can make this picture a lot clearer. European cities, which have their roots steeped in ancient history, offer a palpable sense of continuity and communal engagement. Unless you stray off the beaten path, the historical centers are a marvel to spend time at. And one thing you immediately notice is the absence of ads—architecture and spaces to interact take the center stage.

In stark contrast, North American cities, constructed more recently, are often subjugated to the imperatives of capitalism. The architecture and public spaces in cities such as New York City, Los Angeles, or Miami, tell the story of an economy centered on relentless consumerism.

Take a leisurely stroll down any significant avenue in NYC, and you are bound to be overwhelmed by the sheer density of ads vying for your attention. A recent visit to Ocean City, Maryland, illustrated the extreme polarity of this phenomenon. Despite the serene setting of the beach, I found myself bombarded by an array of aggressive advertising, from billboards carried by boats to planes trailing banners with drink deals. The consumerist culture was pervasive, yet, paradoxically, not a single beachfront shack was selling food or drinks due to legislation against alcohol consumption at the beach. Action takes precedence over inter-action.

This dichotomy is symptomatic of the inherent tension within North American urban spaces—a ceaseless drive towards consumption contending with attempts to preserve the 'civil' nature of public areas. It's as if in this landscape, brands are the only entities permitted to exist freely, while human beings are relegated to the background, their wallets persistently targeted.

Contrast this with my last visit to Rome, where the cityscape seemed to breathe a different life altogether. Meandering through the narrow streets leading to bustling piazzas, I felt immersed in an environment that encouraged human interaction over mere action. Despite being a stranger, the sense of belonging to a larger community was immediate and invigorating. Yet, it only takes a quick Google search to learn about Italy’s economic woes—what’s good for people isn’t always good for business.

American corporations have attempted to commodify this sense of 'community,' hollowing out its inherent meaning. Instead of fostering genuine human connection, these pseudo-communities are designed with a singular goal: to maximize spending. It's a world where interaction, crucial for community building, is seen as a distraction that diverts focus from consumption.

Reconciling these two realities is challenging. There's a saying that America is the best place in the world to make money, but Europe is the best place to spend it—I concur. American society, driven by the capitalist doctrine, champions unimpeded consumption. If an activity hinders this free flow, the system is prompt in amending laws to ensure it thrives.

Europe, conversely, is synonymous with highly regulated industries and cities that prioritize community engagement over unchecked commercialization. While this may result in slower economic growth, I've found that we tend to feel more at ease in places not constantly attempting to sell us something.

As per usual, there’s no right answer here—my interest lies in the nuance. The trade offs aren’t always apparent. If you grew up in North American cities, this sort of action-oriented environment where people are encouraged to spend as opposed to interact, is likely normal to you. Yet, droves of American recent-grads travel to Europe just to quickly learn what they were missing out on. But when reality sets in, and they see the impact that economic stagnation has had on the European youth, the inconvenience of floating billboards at the beach suddenly don’t sound so bad.

PPA