Buzz
Every building begins as a novel idea. Every architectural design is once something unknown. Yet, there have been buildings so radical and the designs so unconventional that they were met with immediate public disdain. It took resilience to bring these structures to life, and years for them to find acceptance. Here are ten such buildings, in no particular order…
10. The Washington Monument
The Washington Monument's construction was first considered shortly after George Washington's passing in 1799. However, the project faced delays due to the War of 1812 and insufficient funds. In 1833, the Washington National Monument Society was created to gather money for the memorial. Robert Mills, an architect from Charleston, South Carolina, won the design competition. However, due to budget constraints, only the obelisk portion of his Greco-Roman temple-like design was approved. This decision sparked immediate criticism. Some compared it to “a stalk of asparagus,” while the New York Tribune likened it to “the big furnace chimney on the Potomac Flats.” Construction commenced, but was interrupted by the Civil War, leaving the half-completed monument to stand like a stump for many years. Mark Twain mocked the “memorial chimney,” remarking how livestock “dozed in the holy calm of its protecting shadow.” Work resumed in 1877, and the monument was finally dedicated by President Chester A. Arthur on February 21, 1885, receiving widespread admiration. Yet, dissent lingered. A critic in the American Architect and Building News remarked, “It is to be regretted that ages are likely to elapse before the monument will fall down.”
9. The Eiffel Tower
In celebration of the French Revolution’s centenary, the French government decided to construct a monument symbolizing the nation's industrial might. The goal was to build the tallest tower in the world. Among the many designs submitted, Gustav Eiffel's elegant lattice structure, supported by four piers, was unanimously selected. When the design and its proposed location in the residential Champ de Mars neighborhood were announced, public opposition was swift. Prominent artists, including Guy de Maupassant and Alexandre Dumas, wrote a furious letter to the minister of public works. “We protest with all our strength the useless and monstrous Eiffel Tower. The Eiffel Tower is without doubt the dishonour of Paris. Everyone feels it, everyone says it, everyone is profoundly saddened by it.” As construction continued, anxious residents worried that the tower might attract lightning or collapse onto their homes, even taking legal action to halt its progress. The city refused responsibility, so Eiffel took it upon himself to insure the neighbors, and work continued. Parisians watched in awe and fear as the structure rose, calling it everything from an “elephant” to a “giraffe” or “hulking metal beast crouched on all fours.” Upon its completion, the tower became an immense success, even among the protesting artists. All except de Maupassant, who despised it so much that he would often dine in the tower’s second-floor restaurant, which was the only place in Paris where he couldn’t view “this tall skinny pyramid of iron ladders, this giant and disgraceful skeleton.”
8. The Flatiron Building NYC
The Fuller Building, commonly known as the Flatiron Building due to its narrow, triangular form, was the tallest building in New York north of City Hall when it was completed in 1902, standing at 23 stories. Designed by architect Daniel Hudson Burnham and built by contractor George B. Fuller, it featured many groundbreaking elements for skyscrapers at the time, such as a steel skeleton structure and a masonry facade. The Madison Square area, where it was built, was quite fashionable, and the grand structure quickly attracted criticism. An architectural critic described it as “at present quite the most notorious thing in New York, and attracts more attention than all the other buildings now going up put together.” While initial fears that strong winds might topple the building were unsubstantiated, its unique shape caused powerful downdrafts. The New York Herald reported that “women were inconveniently blown about and paper money lost from their pockets.” The gusts also had an unintended consequence, revealing women’s ankles, leading police to shout “Twenty-three skiddoo!” to disperse the crowds of onlookers. One particularly strong gust sent a messenger boy into Fifth Avenue, where he tragically died after being struck by a car. Despite these challenges, the building became a popular attraction and is now celebrated as New York’s first skyscraper.
7. Philip Johnson’s Glass House New Canaan, CT
In 1946, architect Philip Johnson purchased land in New Canaan, Connecticut, where he spent the next three years constructing a minimalist, flat-roofed house entirely made of large glass panes. The design, modernist in nature, sharply contrasted with the traditional clapboard colonial homes that dominated the area, causing frustration among the locals. Some newspapers even published mocking verses: “It takes a heap of livin’ in a place to make it home. / And I wish those guys like Johnson would take their plans and roam.” Despite its modern design, the house was hidden from the road. Using feng shui principles, Johnson placed the house on a rocky shelf halfway down a hill, explaining, “The good spirits will be caught by the hill that’s behind the house; the evil spirits will be unable to climb the hill below the house.” He also remarked, “My house has beautiful wallpaper,” referring to the picturesque New England landscape visible from every window. However, the house soon attracted unwanted attention. Birds frequently collided with the glass, and locals, displeased with the design, threw rocks at the house, prompting Johnson to retaliate, which got him into some trouble. During its construction, the house became a tourist attraction, leading to traffic problems in the small town and even requiring police presence. Some residents labeled it “the desecration of the New Canaan countryside.” Eventually, Johnson made amends with the community by opening the house for an annual tour, with proceeds going to support the local nursery school.
6. Frank O. Gehry’s House Santa Monica, CA
In 1978, architect Frank O. Gehry was considering the modest house his wife had chosen for them in Santa Monica, California. The house was a simple two-story pink bungalow located in a quiet neighborhood. Gehry remarked, “It was just a dumb little house with charm, and I became interested in trying to make it more important. I became fascinated with creating a shell around it.” And create a shell he did. He encased the house in corrugated metal, lengths of chain-link fencing, and unfinished plywood, all cut into irregular angular shapes. Unsurprisingly, the neighbors expressed their discontent. One neighbor criticized it as “a dirty thing to do in one’s front yard,” adding, “If he were a poet, he’d be writing smutty jingles.” However, Gehry argued that he simply used materials from his middle-class upbringing in a new and original way to turn the house into a piece of art. As Gehry continued to modify it, the neighbors’ disapproval only grew due to the house’s unfinished appearance. In fact, one neighbor even fired a shot at it. Despite this, the house won national architectural awards, and over time, its fame led to a degree of local acceptance.
5. Neuschwanstein, Hohenschwangau Germany
This iconic castle, which looks like it’s straight out of a fairy tale, stirred significant controversy when it was first constructed. A common reaction was, “What, is the king mad?” In the Middle Ages, castles were built for nobility and their retainers, but King Ludwig II of Bavaria built Neuschwanstein in 1869 solely for his own use. He chose a remote location, 6,000 feet up in the Alps on the ruins of an older castle, so that he could avoid the interference of government ministers. The castle’s whimsical design was inspired by Ludwig’s admiration for Richard Wagner and his grand operas, with the Singer’s Hall directly modeled after a scene from Parsifal. Ludwig's personality was also reflected in many of the castle's idiosyncratic—and costly—design choices. He was so preoccupied with the construction of Neuschwanstein that he paid little attention to the Franco-Prussian War of 1870 and did not even attend the victory celebrations. After moving into the castle, Ludwig demanded more public funds for additional projects and castles, even at one point planning to rob the Rothschild Bank of Frankfurt. As creditors hounded him and the public decried his extravagant spending, Ludwig retreated to Neuschwanstein, withdrawing from public life entirely. Before he could be declared legally insane and a regent assigned to the throne, Ludwig was found dead in a small lake in 1886. Contrary to his wishes, Neuschwanstein was not demolished after his death, and it is now Germany’s most visited castle.
4. Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum New York, New York
“A toilet bowl?” “A hangar for flying saucers?” These were some of the early reactions to Frank Lloyd Wright’s design for the museum that would house the art collection of Solomon Guggenheim. It was both Wright’s first museum and his debut major building in New York City, which he disliked, calling it “a forest of skyscrapers.” The design was influenced by Guggenheim’s collection of abstract modernist paintings, especially those by Wassily Kandinsky. Wright’s design featured a spiral topped with a dome, leading some critics to liken it to “an inverted potty” or “a gigantic snail shell.” In fact, Wright took inspiration from the spirals of the chambered nautilus shell. Construction, initially scheduled for 1946, was delayed due to conflicts with locals and artists, finally beginning in 1956. Guggenheim had passed away in 1949, but Wright remained involved in overseeing the building process. New York’s press continued to mock the design, calling it everything from a marshmallow to a corkscrew to an upside-down washing machine. One construction worker described it as “screwy. The whole joint goes round and round.” Journalist Brendan Gill wrote, “It is a freak that astonishes passersby. It bears no relationship to its neighbors.” Another writer called it “Wright’s joke on New York.” However, when the Guggenheim Museum opened its doors to the public in October 1959, several months after Wright’s death, the gift shop sold more postcards featuring the museum itself than any of the artwork on display. Over time, it became one of New York’s most beloved museums.
3. McDonald’s worldwide
“What’s the deal with McDonald’s?” asked humorist P. J. O’Rourke in the 1980s. “It’s not like Europeans don’t flock by the millions to eat there. McDonald’s food may not be the healthiest, but neither is roasted goose liver with truffles. And has anyone ever smoked a joint and craved ‘pate de foie gras’?” The iconic golden arches are often targeted by snobs and anti-American protesters globally. One French vandal declared, “We don’t want one of these restaurants on every street corner in France.” Whenever the G-20 summit comes to town, anti-globalization rioters often target McDonald’s as a symbol of their grievances. But McDonald’s began as a small family restaurant, founded by brothers Richard and Maurice McDonald in San Bernardino, California. Their innovative model, which emphasized a visible kitchen, cleanliness, quick service, and low-priced meals, sparked interest. The brothers soon wanted to expand and hired architect Stanley Meston to design a unique structure. The first McDonald's with the now-famous Golden Arches opened in Phoenix, Arizona, in 1953. As McDonald’s grew, protests over the buildings’ unattractive designs grew too. To respond, Ray Kroc, the salesman who turned McDonald’s into an international brand, hired architect Donald Miller to tone down the designs. The arches were lowered and eventually reduced to a logo on the sign. Over time, the company began to design buildings that better blended with local architecture—adobe in the West, for example. Although McDonald’s still faces criticism, the buildings themselves are no longer a major issue, except for the iconic arches on the signs.
2. Walker Community Library Minneapolis, MN
In the early 20th century, industrial magnate Andrew Carnegie donated over a thousand public libraries to communities across America. In a small southern town where I once lived, the small Greek marble building still stood, now serving as a flower shop. The much larger Carnegie library in Minneapolis was used until the 1970s when it became clear it was outdated, too small for the growing population, and in need of expensive upgrades. The building also faced heating issues during the energy-conscious Seventies. When architect David Bennett won the job of designing a new library, he opted to build most of it underground. The library would extend several stories below ground, with a low, cubist plaza on the surface. Despite high ceilings and a sunken courtyard garden, the interior felt claustrophobic to many. Librarians joked about handing out flashlights to patrons, and critics compared it to a mine shaft rather than a civic building. The building also leaked, lacked proper heating, and the plaza became a hangout for vagrants and skateboarders. Many passersby didn’t even realize the library was there. In 1995, architect Francis Bulbulian was hired to address the issues. He redesigned the windows and courtyard to let in more light, added a multi-story bookdrop with two children’s spiral slides, and installed large seven-foot-high steel letters spelling L-I-B-R-A-R-Y on the plaza. After the renovation, complaints eased, and the community began to embrace the space.
1. Pompidou Center Paris
During a student trip to Paris years ago, I visited the Pompidou Cultural Center. I looked at its colorful, exposed piping and thought, “This thing is a giant hemorrhoid.” I wasn’t alone in my reaction. Some others called it “An architectural King Kong” or “The back of a refrigerator, vastly enlarged.” The design was created by two little-known architects—Englishman Richard Rogers and Italian Renzo Piano—who won a competition in 1971 to design the center. The French were not pleased with the idea of two foreign architects designing such an iconic Parisian landmark. At a public hearing, a woman was so outraged by the project that police had to remove her. The public unveiling of the design stirred even more controversy. The building would be made of glass and steel, but with all the pipes, ducts, wiring, and elevators exposed on the exterior. The seven-story, high-tech structure was to be placed in a medieval neighborhood full of crooked, gabled buildings, just a block away from Paris’s oldest surviving house, built in 1407. Rogers and Piano faced a tight deadline for completion in 1975 but ran into difficulties when they hadn’t worked out the details for the concrete foundation and had to improvise. Then, in 1974, President Georges Pompidou died, and his successor Valery Giscard d’Estaing had to be convinced to continue the project. As the building took shape, complaints flooded in. Residents filed nuisance claims, artists filed lawsuits, and a petition was created to oppose the “useless monster.” When it opened in 1977, novelist Anthony Burgess described it as “a $200 million erector set.” But despite the backlash, it attracted large crowds to its public spaces and earned critical praise in the art world. During renovations in the late 90s, Richard Rogers himself criticized the changes to the interior, especially the fact that visitors now had to buy tickets to ride the escalators that had once been part of the building's exterior.
+ St. Paul’s Cathedral Christopher Wren, King William III
From the 'Too Good To Check' file: When King William III (or, some say, King Charles II or Queen Anne) was shown the newly finished St. Paul’s Cathedral, he is supposed to have remarked to architect Christopher Wren that it was 'awful, pompous and artificial.' The meaning of these words has shifted over time, and in modern English, we’d interpret them as 'awe-inspiring, magnificent, and technically impressive.' However, this story is likely apocryphal, possibly originating from a humorous anecdote in a 1960s lecture by Harvard philosopher John Rawls. Too bad!
