17.07.2025
In our accelerated, consumption-driven societies, space is rarely encountered as something to be lived with. Instead, it is treated as a blank, malleable commodity – to be optimised, reformatted, and monetised with each new cycle of use. This attitude is reflected in the contemporary built environment, where architecture is expected to accommodate constant change, and where the rhythms of demolition and refurbishment mirror the pace of consumer obsolescence. Adaptive reuse has emerged as a celebrated practice within architecture and real estate, promising a more sustainable alternative to tabula rasa development. Yet, when adaptive reuse becomes industrialised – a standardised response to fluctuating demands – it risks reproducing the very logic it seeks to resist.
Sustainability in the built environment cannot be achieved solely through technological solutions or material conservation. It demands a cultural and ethical shift: from consuming space to dwelling in place. The built environment must be approached not only through strategies of adaptation but also through an ethic of coexistence, where spatial constraints are not obstacles but conditions for living. The tendency to perpetually adjust architecture to accommodate changing user preferences reaffirms a consumerist logic of satisfaction, novelty, and frictionless experience. A more sustainable approach requires cultivating the ability to adapt to existing conditions and to inhabit buildings that may not immediately cater to contemporary norms or desires.
The widely accepted model of the “three pillars” of sustainability – ecological, economic, and social – frames the discussion almost entirely within anthropocentric terms. Even ecological sustainability is evaluated in relation to human benefit and survival. All three pillars, in practice, reflect different facets of social sustainability. This perspective marginalises the possibility of a deeper, non-instrumental relationship with the built environment. Coexistence with existing structures involves more than resource efficiency; it entails developing forms of attachment, care, and stewardship that transcend functionality and metrics.
Adaptive reuse fits well within circular economy frameworks, particularly through its capacity to conserve grey energy embodied within existing structures. However, current life cycle assessments tend to measure this primarily through the avoidance of environmental penalties associated with demolition and reconstruction. They rarely provide positive incentives for deep preservation. The prevailing logic treats conservation as harm reduction, rather than recognising it as an active contribution to cultural and environmental continuity. A recalibrated framework would assign tangible value to high levels of retention and to architectural decisions that prioritise compatibility between user needs and existing spatial character.
The long-standing conceptual distinction between space and place remains relevant in this context. Space, in this view, is abstract, open-ended, and readily transformed, while place is particular, layered, and resistant. The contemporary real estate environment often favours the logic of space, promoting endless flexibility and minimisation of friction. Yet it is precisely in the resistance of place that deeper forms of meaning, memory, and identity take root. Preserving place does not mean resisting change, but recognising that certain spatial forms require time, repetition, and compromise in order to be fully inhabited. Heidegger’s notion of dwelling, in this sense, refers not to mere occupation but to the cultivation of a world through ongoing presence and care.
The assumption that buildings should adapt to users overlooks the possibility that users might instead adapt to buildings. Crucially, the question is not whether the structure or the infill is easier to alter, nor whether one offers greater returns in terms of cost or emissions. Rather, the leverage point lies in a deeper analysis of real need, latent potential, and the narrative and performative value embedded in what already exists. Change – whether behavioural or architectural – ought to follow an informed evaluation of the kind of relationship the user is willing to enter with the place.
This relationship-based model reframes the adaptive process. Before altering a space, the user must come to understand the place: its history, its temperament, its possible futures. Only then can one decide whether it is worth investing in changing oneself to suit the space or changing the space to suit oneself. This dynamic mirrors human relationships: profound changes – whether spatial or personal – are only justifiable when the commitment is long-term. There is little purpose in transforming self or environment for a fleeting interaction. Meaningful adaptation, then, is predicated on a commitment to place, and it is this commitment that shapes identity, constructs culture, and provides anchoring in a rapidly shifting world.
By contrast, the over-aestheticisation of adaptive reuse contributes to the commodification of place. Weathered surfaces, traces of previous functions, and industrial elements are frequently appropriated as marketable styles in completely new narratives. What is preserved, in such cases, is not the lived complexity of place but a consumable image of authenticity. This logic produces sanitised environments that gesture toward history without engaging its messiness. The sociologist Marc Augé described such spaces as “non-places” – anonymous settings optimised for circulation rather than dwelling. Doreen Massey’s relational understanding of place offers an alternative, seeing place as an ongoing, collective negotiation shaped by multiple trajectories and temporalities. Sustainability, in this context, depends on enabling these layered negotiations rather than freezing place into aesthetic cliché.
A more robust approach to adaptive reuse recognises the need for co-adaptation: buildings and users mutually transforming over time. Sustainability is not achieved by maximising flexibility or preserving fabric in isolation, but by cultivating relationships of reciprocity, commitment, and long-term inhabitation. This requires new design cultures that prioritise repairability, restraint, and care over novelty and speed. Architectural value must be understood not only in terms of performance and efficiency but also through the slow, accretive processes by which spaces become places.
In an era defined by environmental urgency and cultural acceleration, adaptive reuse holds significant promise. Yet its success depends on more than resource retention or reduced emissions. It hinges on a deeper transformation in how we relate to the built environment. By shifting from the consumption of space to the dwelling in place, architecture can move toward an ethics of continuity – one that values the shared time, memory, and negotiation that make buildings more than containers for use, but companions in a sustainable way of life.
References
Augé, M. (1995). Non-Places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity. Verso.
Heidegger, M. (1971). Poetry, Language, Thought. Harper & Row.
Massey, D. (2005). For Space. Sage Publications.