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Portrait of Tobias Bauer, Contributing Writer, Design & Typography.

Tobias Bauer

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02

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Cities in One Building: The Brutalist Dream of the Megastructure

Cover photograph of brutalist concrete architecture for the article "Cities in One Building: The Brutalist Dream of the Megastructure".
Some architects dreamed of buildings the size of cities—single concrete frameworks holding homes, streets, and shops. The megastructure was brutalism's most utopian and most fragile idea.

At its most ambitious, brutalism dreamed of a single building that could hold an entire city. The megastructure promised to stack homes, shops, offices, and streets into one continuous frame. It was the logical extreme of the movement's faith in concrete: if a slab could hold a thousand flats, why not a whole urban world? Architects drew vast sections threaded with walkways, gardens, and transit, cities turned vertical and roofed against the weather. The idea was intoxicating, and for a time it seemed genuinely buildable.

The megastructure grew out of a particular anxiety: that traditional cities were too slow and too messy to plan. A single structure could be designed all at once. Movement systems were central. Visionaries imagined people gliding between levels on escalators and decks, never touching the ground. Flexibility was the great promise. Modules could be plugged in and removed as needs changed, the building evolving like a living organism. On paper it resolved every contradiction of the modern city, which was precisely why it proved so hard to realise.

Cover photograph of brutalist concrete architecture for the article "Cities in One Building: The Brutalist Dream of the Megastructure".
Some architects dreamed of buildings the size of cities—single concrete frameworks holding homes, streets, and shops. The megastructure was brutalism's most utopian and most fragile idea.

At its most ambitious, brutalism dreamed of a single building that could hold an entire city. The megastructure promised to stack homes, shops, offices, and streets into one continuous frame. It was the logical extreme of the movement's faith in concrete: if a slab could hold a thousand flats, why not a whole urban world? Architects drew vast sections threaded with walkways, gardens, and transit, cities turned vertical and roofed against the weather. The idea was intoxicating, and for a time it seemed genuinely buildable.

The megastructure grew out of a particular anxiety: that traditional cities were too slow and too messy to plan. A single structure could be designed all at once. Movement systems were central. Visionaries imagined people gliding between levels on escalators and decks, never touching the ground. Flexibility was the great promise. Modules could be plugged in and removed as needs changed, the building evolving like a living organism. On paper it resolved every contradiction of the modern city, which was precisely why it proved so hard to realise.

Brutalist concrete architecture photographed for the article "Cities in One Building: The Brutalist Dream of the Megastructure".

A few real projects came close. Housing complexes in Canada, Japan, and Britain stacked dwellings into dramatic concrete terraces and interior streets. Where they were built well, residents found surprising intimacy inside the vast frames, with sunlit terraces and tight-knit communities. These buildings still draw pilgrims, architects who come to see whether the dream held up at full scale. Their survival proves the idea was not pure fantasy, even if it rarely reached its grandest form.

But the full megastructure almost never happened, and for good reason. Cities are not designed once; they grow, argue, and change. A single building cannot absorb that messiness. The flexibility promised on paper proved nearly impossible to deliver in poured concrete. The scale also concentrated risk. When one part failed, the whole structure suffered, and there was no easy way to start again. The dream foundered on the simple fact that cities are made of time as much as of space.

Detail of raw concrete forms illustrating the article "Cities in One Building: The Brutalist Dream of the Megastructure".
Textured concrete surfaces and structure shown in the article "Cities in One Building: The Brutalist Dream of the Megastructure".

If a slab could hold a thousand flats, why not a whole urban world?

The dream foundered on the simple fact that cities are made of time as much as of space.

Light and shadow across bare concrete, accompanying the article "Cities in One Building: The Brutalist Dream of the Megastructure".

Yet the megastructure refuses to die. Its DNA reappears in airports, hospitals, and the vast mixed-use complexes rising across Asia today. Designers still borrow its logic of stacked functions and internal streets, even when they avoid its name. Speculative architects revisit the old drawings, finding in them a boldness that current practice often lacks. The idea survives as a provocation, a reminder that architecture once thought at the scale of whole worlds.

The brutalist megastructure was a magnificent overreach, and that is exactly why it still matters. It pushed concrete and ambition to their limits, exposing both the power and the danger of designing life from a single drawing. Its failures taught humility; its survivors taught what was possible when the nerve held. We may never build a city in one building, but the dream keeps redrawing the edges of what we think buildings can be.

Monumental brutalist building featured in the article "Cities in One Building: The Brutalist Dream of the Megastructure".

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