The Old Truman Brewery taught me that great places can’t be rushed

Placemaking. I’ve written here before about my love/hate relationship with this concept. I don’t have a problem with it per se, rather how it’s typically done in our industry. When its treated as a distinct issue, it’s in danger of becoming a separate workstream that can be value engineered or even cut from budgets completely. In reality I think that there are only two types of development: good and bad. Good development makes good places, bad development…doesn’t.

As a term it’s a word that appears in planning statements, investment proposals and marketing brochures. We talk confidently about creating places, curating communities and delivering authenticity. Yet the uncomfortable truth is that authenticity is almost impossible to build to programme, from a spreadsheet.

I learnt that lesson at the Old Truman Brewery in Brick Lane in London’s East End. I was fortunate enough to spend several years working with the team there at the start of my career in property from the late 1990s. Then the estate was at the very beginning of its reinvention under the relatively new ownership of the visionary Zeloof family who had run their family fashion business from there for many years. Looking back now, it remains one of the more formative experiences of my career - not because of the scale of the property development opportunity, but because of the relative absence of it.

Development is a capital-intensive business. We acquire sites, clear them, invest heavily, build quickly and realise value as efficiently and as speedily as possible. Success is measured through certainty of process, good risk management, adherence to programme and appropriate financial return. The internal rate of return (IRR) of any project – the metric that measures both scale and speed of return on investment - drives most development today.

The Truman Brewery followed almost none of those rules. The former industrial site, parts of which date back to the 17^th Century,  was not transformed by vast quantities of capital. It evolved through patience, a distinct lack of development capital, imagination and an extraordinary amount of sweat equity. Buildings were repaired rather than replaced – often in partnership with tenants – and places were occupied before they were perfected. Artists, designers, photographers, market traders, small businesses and entrepreneurs were given room to experiment. Some succeeded, some disappeared. Others grew into very successful businesses.

From a conventional investment perspective, the project was hardly textbook. It took some considerable time to reach the peak of its value as you would understand it today. Capital was tied up for a long time and significant returns probably emerged gradually. Development happened incrementally rather than in neat value-generating phases. Any traditional IRR that was measured probably looked rather disappointing.

The place, however, became extraordinary – rooted in the authenticity with which it was developed. That is worth remembering as the latest chapter in the Truman Brewery story unfolds.

Following years of planning debate, the Government has finally approved proposals to redevelop underused parts of the estate, including new commercial buildings, cultural and retail space, public realm improvements and, most controversially, a large data centre. Tower Hamlets opposed the scheme, arguing that the site should deliver substantially more housing, and campaigners questioned whether digital infrastructure of this scale belongs in one of London’s best-known creative neighbourhoods.

Both sides made legitimate arguments. London desperately needs more homes and data centres are rarely welcomed by neighbouring communities. But Brick Lane is not simply another brownfield site awaiting redevelopment; it is one of London’s most culturally significant neighbourhoods, shaped by successive generations of immigration, enterprise and creativity. To lean too heavily in favour of one use – lots more housing, for instance - risks upsetting the balance of what has made the place so successful to date.

There is another danger inherent in this debate. Sometimes we confuse preserving a place with preserving every building exactly as it is. The Old Truman Brewery has never been static. Throughout its history it has continually reinvented itself - from Gerogian brewery to industrial complex, from post-industrial decline to a hugely valuable creative quarter. Change is not something that has happened to the estate – it has been its defining characteristic.

The challenge now is not whether development should happen but whether the development that is proposed understands what made the place successful in the first place.

There is much to admire in the design approach driven by the owners. Practices including Buckley Gray Yeoman, Carmody Groarke, Chris Dyson Architects, Henley Halebrown and Morris + Company have developed proposals that work with the site’s industrial grain rather than attempting to erase it. New buildings acknowledge the scale, rhythm and materiality of the surrounding estate. Existing routes are retained and enhanced. Public realm is strengthened. This is intelligent, contemporary architecture that recognises that successful heritage regeneration is not about imitation, but about continuity. It seems to me that the architects understand that they are designing the next chapter of a story, not writing an entirely new one.

Says Joe Morris of Morris + Company Architects: “The Truman estate, at its heart, has always been about a freedom to innovate, cheek by jowl programmatic uses and an ever-changing cycle of people and activities all occurring in buildings which can adapt extremely easily. This is the spirit of the project - simple, robust building stock which can absolutely flex and adapt to ever changing needs.”

But architecture alone won’t determine whether the project succeeds. The real answer will depend on whether curation and stewardship is able to carry on in the manner it has been done for the last 30 years.

The original success of the Truman Brewery came not simply from clever design but from the way it was managed. The Zeloof family created conditions in which independent businesses could afford to establish themselves. Creative industries were not treated as temporary marketing devices but as the economic engine of the place itself. Uses evolved organically. Not every corner was optimised for maximum rental value - there was room for experimentation, and with experimentation came surprise. Those qualities can’t simply be drawn on a masterplan.

They depend on decisions taken long after planning permission has been granted. Will affordable workspace remain genuinely affordable? Will independent operators still have opportunities alongside larger commercial occupiers? Will temporary uses continue to be welcomed? Will the imperfections that gave the Brewery its character continue to be tolerated and celebrated? These questions matter far more than whether one particular building is retained or replaced.

The Old Truman Brewery illustrates a much broader issue facing our industry. We have become exceptionally good at delivering buildings. I’m less certain we’ve become better at creating places. Our financial models, particularly in the current global economic situation, increasingly demand certainty. Investors seek ever-more predictable returns. Construction programmes have tightened, leasing strategies are determined before the first foundations are poured and every square foot is expected to perform from day one. One unintended consequence of this is that we leave remarkably little room for discovery, serendipity, delight and surprise.

Yet most of the places people love were delivered in that spirit. Covent Garden, Neal’s Yard, Camden Lock, Granary Square, Coal Drops Yard and the Truman all emerged through processes of adaptation, experimentation and gradual evolution. Some benefited from significant investment later, but their identities were established through incremental change rather than comprehensive delivery - authenticity as a product of time and patience.

That creates an uncomfortable challenge for developers, investors and planning authorities alike. How do we build commercial models that allow places to mature rather than simply complete? How do we reward stewardship alongside efficient construction? How do we recognise that the most valuable outcome of a development may not be visible in the first five years?

When I think back to my years working alongside the team at the Truman Brewery, I remember the energy more than the buildings. The conversations, the fun and the sense of can-do that drove daily decision making. It was the product of patient ownership, thoughtful curation, the creativity required when the capital pot is small and the confidence to allow a place to find its own identity over time.

As the Truman Brewery enters its next phase, I hope everyone involved remembers what first made it a remarkable place. New buildings can go up very quickly. Great places take a little more time.