Type “ugly buildings” into Google, and you’ll see a few entries regarding Australian Blunder and ArcelorMittal Orbit Sculpture. You may disagree, but you could at least cognise the rationale behind it. The consensus is less clear for “beautiful buildings.” “There are as many styles of beauty as there are visions of happiness,” noted the French novelist Stendahl. When weighing the importance of beauty in architecture, a digressive yet pivotal argument revolves around the very definition of beauty. From colours to symmetry, the foundations on which the edifice of beauty is built are involved and multifaceted.

Indeed, different nations have different notions of aesthetic standards. The Japanese term wabi-sabi epitomises the country’s cultural record that stems from a Buddhist doctrine. The concept embraces caducity and imperfection, and with such an attitude is enshrined the irreversible tide of life in the transcendent world. Typified by the Zen gardens and traditional pottery, wabi-sabi contrasts Moorish architecture, developed by Western Islam, that promotes adorning ornaments and patterns. In addition, an object could evoke different perceptions in different perceivers. Las Vegas, for example, is the third most visited American city among South Koreans, owing to its prismatic neon signs (ESTA, 2021). The selfsame tourists, however, despise the fluorescence in their metropolis. A reason for the ambivalence is the disparity in lingual ability (Yoo, 2015). For non-English based foreigners, unlike for the autochthon, Western signboards are a form of art nouveau rather than junky information.

Such contrast is particularly relevant in the past half-century, with the dawn of postmodernists such as Jacques Derrida, who reasoned that all subjects are relative and determined by social systems. Throughout this era, architects like Frank Gehry (responsible for both the aforesaid Australian Blunder and Guggenheim Museum Bilbao, which look vastly at variance) devised unprecedented designs. Then was challenged the established thinking of what it is to be artistic, namely “less is more.” Rather, whatever one made to be artistic, was artistic. In response to a dilute universal certainty—if there was any—it was only natural for the conventional “beauty” to lose its significance.

Incidentally, the opposing view—that attractiveness is an objective facet akin to a mellifluent cadence in music—had been dominant throughout history. It derives from Vitruvius, the man from whom the belief that buildings ought to be appealing emerges. According to the Roman polymath, the three virtues—firmistas (solidity), utilitas (functionality), venustas (pulchritude)—are essential to construction and would combine to serve the primal purpose of architecture: to imitate nature. Through classifying nature as the finest designer, Vitruvius fathomed out the geometry behind human anatomy. In his articulation of perfect proportion and symmetry—for instance, that the foot equals a sixth of the person—he hinted at an inescapable idea of beauty, thus the image of an ideal city.

Extensions of the theory were later popularised by Renaissance men such as Leonardo Da Vinci, the illustrator of The Vitruvian Man. It came to light that the golden ratio of 1: 𝚽 (≈1.618) prevails on Earth, from garden plants to hurricane clouds. The Great Pyramid of Giza and the UN Secretariat Building are tectonic demonstrations of the phenomenon. The UN’s headquarter was designed by Le Corbusier, who ingeniously parted the 39 floors by placing reflective bands on its facade to create rectangles of the golden ratio. Notwithstanding the abstraction, the golden ratio is virtually impossible to perfectly execute in construction, nor does it automatically allure onlookers to an otherwise poorly designed building. Hence, an upshot from these discussions is that despite the varied opinions on architectural beauty, there is an inherent intersubjective agreement.

The connection between appearance and likeability in an architectonic domain has already been established by the housing market. As early as 1982, it had been suggested that residents relate the ocular perception of their dwelling to their self-esteem (Marcus, 1982). Moreover, clientele assign merit to the externals of a house and those well-designed abodes proliferate in price faster than average. As per the Halo effect, the human race intrinsically prefers more beautiful over less beautiful at all times, including in criminology (Gunnell & Ceci, 2010), dating (Ramaker, 2020) and recruitment (Ścigała, 2021). The foregoing survey, in parallel to psychology, is a manifestation of the innate positivity diffused by an object of artistry.

Meanwhile, the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao, Spain, evinces the impact of sightly architecture on the wider neighbourhood. “Architecture is not about words. It’s about tears,” remarked the lachrymose architect Philip Johnson upon his first visit. But it wasn’t only Johnson that had been impressed; attracting a myriad of globetrotters, the landmark propelled a tectonic shift—a declining locality turned into a cultural omphalos. Since its 1997 opening, the Guggenheim conduced over £2 billion to the Basque GDP. The economic value of architectural beauty, when measured over millennia, is incalculable. Indeed, Spain is second among the world’s most visited countries, behind France, another hotbed for virtuosi (UNWTO, 2020).

The synergy of multiple properties standing abreast in architecture is just as important as a unit’s visual appeal. Research by the Commission for Architecture and the Built Environment (CABE, 2002) reveals that human sensibilities are influenced by their tectonic environs and that 81% of us take an active interest in how buildings both seem and feel. In theory, the ideal combination is that of diverse physique and unified materials exclusive to the area, for example, Santorini, Greece. By contrast, a family of either completely monotonous flats or chaotically contrastive luxury shops, as in Seoul, South Korea, constitute the oriental wen comparatively bereft of comeliness (Yoo, 2015).

The urban skyline embodies the city itself. It is a corollary of urbanity stemming from economic, societal and technological traces of the townsfolk. Rome’s welkin consists of intersections between semi-circular domes and straighter contours of the houses. Historically, the Europeans were in need of vast expanses for large gatherings or sacred activity, and dome-like roofs were a solution. Centuries later, wood supplies were lacking to satiate the need. Then came forth Filippo Brunelleschi, who devised a neoteric structure that employs less wood that culminated in the renowned Florence Cathedral and redounded to humanity’s first-ever patent. A beautiful skyline is not merely a source of ocular glee but an important articulation of a city’s unique urbanity.

As aforementioned, comeliness and functionality are of the Vitruvian Triad that is germane to the discipline even at present. Regrettably, with serious issues such as climate change flooding the front pages, it is easy to focus on the latter and latently dub the former superfluous—London’s Living Roofs and Walls scheme is one example. But many industries observe an interdependence between the two. Research at Georgetown University discovered that for ceteris paribus, academic achievement progressed by 5.5% as students’ environment moved up a design tier, e.g., from “poor” to “fair” (Edwards, 1991). Similarly, a study in a Pennsylvanian hospital investigated the records of convalescents recovering from cholecystectomy who either lodged in rooms with windows overlooking landscapes or a brick wall (Ulrich, 1984). The result conveyed that inpatients with open views had shorter postoperative stays, fewer negative evaluations, and post-surgical complications. If the appearance directly affects consumer experience, such quality cannot be neglected in architectural planning.

Overlooked aspects when measuring the value of beauteousness is how it varies with chronological distance and among socioeconomic classes. The further away the beholder is from the conception of the object of beauty, the greater its significance (Peterson, 2017). It is no surprise that ancestral oeuvres are time-honoured, and so, in ruminating on how to construct an establishment, one must account for its value which may hereafter hold.

Furthermore, the disadvantaged do not always see beauty as their prime concern. In another CABE survey, a majority responded that elegance, when contested against affordability, sustainability or functionality, was subservient at all times (CABE, 2011). But solely because it is not the most significant does not mean it must be lavish. Though we prioritise inoculations over a decent meal, we appreciate the repercussions of culinary delight in our humdrum lives. After all, 81% of us, including the less advantaged, are attentive to how our surrounding architecture presents itself.

Architectural aesthetics, however, is often trivialised primarily because politicians deem its benefits as unmarketable and results controversial. No official wants a recurrence of the Eiffel Tower situation when multiple artists in protest dubbed the future spectacle an “ungainly skeleton”: in truth, the regret from some misjudged action is far greater than regret from inaction (Kahneman & Tversky, 1982).

In Beauty and the Beast (1991), the grimace of the cursed prince did not curtail his amorous entanglement with Belle. The ensuing import is as classic as the picture itself: skin-deep pulchritude is nugatory compared to the inner virtues of a persona. Even so, there are those such as Steve Jobs who spent $650,000 to refine the angles of a cube mould from 90.1°to 90°. The critics would label him pernickety, yet the highbrow’s fixation on design resonates through Apple Park. So, if computer companies find beauty important, why should architects think different?

There are perceivable externalities and general consensus—although not absolute—on architectural beauty. In fact, regards hideous semblance, there even is unanimity to a degree (Baggini, 2010). On that account, beauty is important for architecture. And it is not only the architects’ duty to preserve and promote such quality but a collective duty of ours because beauty is a public good.