You graduated in architecture from the University of Cardiff. After your studies, however, you strayed somewhat from this profession. Have you ever regretted not pursuing a career in architectural design?

I did it partly because I was given the opportunity to work at The Architectural Review, and I decided to give it a try. It quickly became clear that I was good at it, and within a few years I moved from assisting the editorial team to standing in for the editor-in-chief. At the time, I thought the universe might be trying to tell me something. Of course, these days I sometimes wonder whether I should have stuck with designing after all, because I love architecture—I love buildings and cities, and I have enormous respect for the people who work in the field.

Perhaps that is also why, alongside writing, I engage in sculpture, as a way of maintaining a connection to form, material, structure, and colour. But I believe that people who are not practising architects can still make a significant contribution to the world of design and architectural politics—just as designers can contribute to critical discourse. Hopefully, there is still a living relationship between these two worlds.

Do architects ever say to you, “You have no right to judge us if you don’t build yourself”?

Yes, some people say, “How can you criticize me?” There is a certain type of snobs who look down on those who have not fulfilled their idea of the “right career path”. I think that’s a silly way of thinking. Every person has different experiences and qualities to offer the world. So yes, I do face criticism sometimes, but I don’t take it too seriously. It says more about the people who express it than it does about me.

You spent several years as the director of Open City, an organisation that gives people opportunities to explore their cities through festivals such as the international Open House, which is incidentally very popular in Prague. What does this event mean to you from a curatorial perspective?

I led Open City for four years and managed to transform the festival from an event aimed more at an older and wealthier audience into an open platform for all communities. London is incredibly diverse, with a variety of cultures, food, and street life, and it is this diversity that shapes the city. From a curatorial point of view, Open City means showing this diversity and giving “ordinary” people the opportunity to talk about how the city is being built. Before that, I worked at The Architectural Review and the Architecture Foundation, but it was only here that I truly succeeded in connecting architecture with people who do not usually follow it.

You have come to Prague to share your views and concerns about the role of criticism in contemporary architecture and city-making. Do you feel that this role is changing, particularly with the rise of artificial intelligence, which is shaking up the media landscape?

Yes, that’s exactly what I want to talk about in my lecture. These are extremely difficult times for journalists. We are handing over enormous power to a few giant technology companies that certainly do not have our best interests at heart. This is happening without democratic control and at an incredible speed. It’s frightening, and it will certainly change the nature of cultural discourse and, in fact, the way we deal with many things in general.

But every crisis also contains an opportunity. For people like me, who are interested in critical dialogue in city-making, the challenge right now is to look for formats beyond the online environment, beyond the written word. To look for ways that cannot be easily “filtered” through language models, but which have a more physical, tangible effect on people. In Prague, I want to talk about how to take back the power of these platforms and connect culture and criticism through personal experience, various forms of dialogue, not just written text.

Could you be more specific?

You yourself arrived on a skateboard today and are planning to go skating later. That’s a good example of an activity that is inherently urban and tests the boundaries of public space. Who has the right to skateboard? Who feels welcome? Who doesn’t? These are questions that are best discussed not online, but in and around skateparks. I see an opportunity to turn the “crisis” around AI and ChatGPT into something that will enrich cultural life and critical debate. But we have to make it happen ourselves, because Sam Altman (CEO of OpenAI, ed. note) isn’t going to help us with that.

So do you think change has to come “from the bottom”?

I think it must come from everyone. Politicians must also wake up. People at the top of society must realize that they too bear responsibility. But it is not enough to wait for prime ministers and mayors; each of us must contribute.

Do you see a decline in space for high-quality writing about the city in British media?

Definitely. Over the past ten years, many architecture and design magazines have disappeared. Almost all major newspapers used to have their own architecture critic, but today only three out of six or seven do. What used to be a vibrant ecosystem of discussion and ideas has been emptied.

There are several reasons for this—people are canceling their subscriptions, the cost of living is rising, and housing is unaffordable. In addition, many media outlets are owned by investment funds or other structures that are not concerned with the quality of content, but with profit or prestige. We have allowed the media to be sold off, emptied, and become the property of cynical owners. And now we are doing the same with public discourse online. Twitter used to be a lively space for interesting debates, but today it is full of hatred. And that happened because it is owned by people who do not care about its quality. Newspapers have undergone a similar development. But this can be changed. You don’t need that many subscribers to maintain a quality magazine. And fortunately, new small platforms are emerging that are doing well, which gives me hope.

In your articles, you talk about a “crisis of imagination”. In other words, we have become accustomed to cities that serve the market, not people. What role do developers and politicians play in this, in your view?

We mustn’t lump them all together. There are wonderful developers who care about the climate, the community, and social impact. And there are politicians who entered politics with a sincere desire to improve the world. But there are also cynical developers who are only interested in profit, and politicians who mainly want power. The problem is that the latter often get more space and power. In Britain, for example, half of all new housing is built by just ten companies, which is a disaster. It kills innovation and gives these companies enormous power. Meanwhile, many smaller developers are doing excellent projects, but they can’t get access to capital or land.

A similar situation exists in the Czech Republic, where most land was sold off in the 1990s and is now being developed by just a few large companies.

Yes, it’s very similar. And politicians? It’s complicated there too. Planning approval requires public consent, which should be the most interesting thing about democracy: that you can say “yes” or “no” to any proposal for the future of the city. But politicians often let developers build lousy projects because they are afraid or corrupt. Recently, for example, the Labour Party, which is now in power, accepted huge donations from developers and immediately began to deregulate and allow construction that would not have been approved in the past. This does not strike me as a healthy democracy, but rather as a form of corruption with long-term consequences. After all, these buildings will remain here for decades.

When you criticise the way development works today so sharply, what kind of relationship do you have with developers? Do they see you as a partner, or rather as an enemy?

The good developers, such as Urban Splash, Igloo, and Situ, are interested in architecture and urbanism, and I consider them colleagues. On the other hand, there is a group that sees me as an adversary or simply ignores me; these are usually the ones you never see or hear from anywhere— the ones we should be holding to greater account.

In your texts, you often cross the boundaries of architecture. You write about gender, social inequality, the climate crisis, and the power of the media. Do you see a newly built house as a mirror of society’s values?

Yes. For me, writing about architecture and city-making is closely tied to social criticism. I try to help readers understand the connections, the context. I show what life looks like at this particular moment. Architectural criticism is not necessarily about the impact on the building itself, it is about addressing the reader. And trying to change the way they look at the world around them.

What do you feel is most lacking in today’s public debate on architecture?

I think it lacks sharpness. Perhaps because the media is in decline, people are afraid of losing their jobs and money. There are a lot of “decent” but bland articles that describe who built what and where, but don’t address why. They do not ask whether things could have been done better or differently. These are texts that ChatGPT could easily have written. Of course, we have a few great journalists whom I respect, but overall, I miss a stronger critical perspective in British writing on architecture. As a freelance writer, I sometimes feel isolated; I would welcome more “fellow fighters” who are not afraid to speak out.

To some extent, that is understandable. For a freelance journalist, sharper criticism involves risk. You may simply stop being invited anywhere.

Exactly. I have experienced this myself. I was recently on a press trip to China and I allowed myself a very mild criticism of one unfortunate installation. I didn’t even include it in my article, I just wrote about it on Instagram. And the PR manager of the trip, an American, got really angry with me—she was aggressive and unpleasant. And yet the criticism was genuinely harmless.

That’s the problem: when you criticize something, you risk not being invited back, not being given access, and that discourages people from open debate. So yes, I understand why other writers and editors aren’t always as bold as they could be, but I think the solution lies in greater collective strength. If more authors behaved this way, it would be much easier to stand up to grumpy PR managers or problematic projects. Strength is in numbers, I would say.

If we were to talk about cities of the future, what would you like the next generation of architects to take away from your writing?

When talking about cities of the future, I would like the next generation of architects to understand that GDP is not a reliable indicator of life quality. GDP growth does not always benefit society, as it includes activities that may not bring real benefits to people or the environment. It is often the case that higher GDP also means higher carbon emissions. Cities of the future should therefore take a more critical approach to GDP and look for ways to make the economy fairer and greener, rather than blindly pursuing growth.

Watch the recording of the entire lecture: