The concept of a biophilic exterior was something I had only seen in plans and models. So, when it suddenly appeared in front of me, at an older office complex in Germany, I felt a rush of gratitude and of being blessed to see something so ideal. The vines creeping along the building, the planter boxes hanging from the window, the office complex “next door” that was entirely sheathed in plants—these were all as close to nature as an office complex could get. They were serene spaces. And yet they had no direct profit-and-loss relationship to their opportunity costs and profit potential that an urban planner or architect would value. And therein lies the rub of activism: For something to be “good” in the sustainable sense, it has to be “good” in the practical economic sense. And that is still a question far too often left unaddressed.
I stood there, surrounded by the building’s lush exterior, and realized that biophilic design wasn’t about just adding “green” elements to buildings. It wasn’t merely about placing a few planters and trees around a structure. It was changing completely and interacting with its surroundings.
Even the outer shell of a structure—the exterior, which is typically seen as unyielding and purely functional—could become a dynamic, living extension of the natural world.
That revelation shifted the course of my career and how I now see the urban environment. I started to think of the facades, rooftops, and walls of our cities not as blank canvases for glass, concrete, or steel but as opportunities to breathe life back into the cities we had slowly disconnected from the natural world.
The most exhilarating project I have worked on was a residential complex that had been an eyesore for decades. It was originally built in the 1970s as a tired block of concrete and metal that was gray and devoid of personality. The design was almost as far removed from nature as a building could be, while still being held up by floor slabs and the kind of structural walls that seem to say, “I’m a building; you’re in my space, but I don’t care as long as you just exist and keep doing whatever you’re doing.” Our mission was to do what I like to call “biophilic rehab.” From the outside in, we attempted to bring a much-needed sense of nature and vibrancy back to the complex. The first opportunity to address biophilia happens at the very entrance of the complex—before any natural elements are introduced into the building itself, or heaven forbid, before any inhabitants are invited to cross the threshold and make the building their home.
In addition to the blatant aesthetic improvement, we looked at upgrading the exterior with biophilic design. Biophilia—the love of nature and living systems—has become a design principle for achieving wellbeing in the built environment. We wanted more than a green wall. We wanted life in all shapes and forms. How does one do that outside a building? One way is with plants that attract and support local birds and insects. There are also things like murals that can help make a building exterior look and feel like a natural habitat; creating one is the principle behind the kinds of art that can lace and lead into different parts of a building. I am now well acquainted with these mural-making maestros.
We specifically chose the vegetation we planted to attract the true stars of the courtyard space: the pollinators. The courtyard vegetation beckoned to butterflies, bees, and birds—not that any of them really needed this or any other courtyard to do their jobs, but these species being here and in the adjacent archways helped the building in its vocations of serving the natural and human communities. I hope you get the point: for biophilic design to persuade, it must acknowledge the preferences of persuadable species (in this case, for plants that attract the pollinators in question) and the enthusiastic gatherings of the children who live in the P&A. Staff and resident connections are great, but biophilic design makes and keeps connections between people and nature.
There was a family that planted tomatoes, while another planted lavender. The scent of fresh herbs often filled the air, and it was common for neighbors to exchange vegetables or gardening advice as they tended to their plots. What had begun as an effort to enliven some of the more deadened parts of the building had turned into a project that enlivened the whole community—a project that made the community into something of a shared garden and a byword. An appearance of an Eden was no longer so far-fetched.
The Wider Implications and Future of Biophilic Outdoor Design
Biophilic exterior design has an enhanced beauty that is not limited to individual structures; its effects can be felt throughout entire communities and municipalities. When one begins to grasp the larger implications, every living wall, each green rooftop, every living façade adds up to something substantial. These biophilic elements are more than just wall murals for roof-imagining architects; they are tomorrow’s urban public spaces, places where human and nonhuman inhabitants live alongside each other in the artificial biospheres of the city.
In one project, a district undergoing a major redevelopment served to highlight an important lesson. Multiple buildings were to be reworked, and biophilic principles were at the core of that redesign. Facades were developed that would adapt to their surroundings. Plants native to the area would occupy most of the exterior space, and help create a local microsystem that served to both engage and support the local ecology. But more than just provide a pretty face for these buildings, the planning process ensured that the space between them utilized pathways that were cool and comfortable even in the hottest summer weather.
The transformation was truly collective and beautiful. The starkness of too much asphalt and too few green spaces had been the previous identity of this undistinguished part of the city. It was just like nearly every other downtown area in the world. But now, when you walk through this amazing outdoor place, you see not only biophilic buildings but also surroundings staged to look like a performance of a very different identity. Everywhere you look—above, below, or at street level—there’s phenomenal eco-design at work. And unlike so many other downtown spaces that really are too few and too far between, this thriving part of the city invites every passerby to experience its natural-world magic.
Frequently, I contemplate the insights we gained from these projects—just how vital it is to build urban habitats where every level, from the skin of a building to its public spaces, is created with human and ecological health in mind. The biophilic design of building exteriors goes hand in hand with the sustainability movement, but it also highlights an even more hidden health issue: our emotional and physical well-being. Common scientific sense supports what my gut has always told me: natural elements are natural stress reducers, are natural mental health boosters, and are natural “we’re in this together” signifiers. And if we can achieve all that simply by integrating plants (and other life forms) into the very surfaces of our structures, shouldn’t we?
There are certainly obstacles to overcome. It’s not simple to persuade developers that biophilic design is worth the investment, not when they’re feeling the financial crunch. But at least I don’t find it hard to try. I simply trot out the best, most convincing examples of biophilia in action. The butterfly-watching children serve as my gold standard. Maybe they and the elderly air-conditioning-free resident are our best arguments for the design philosophy. After all, if the human experience isn’t what biophilic design is about, then what’s it about?
A few years ago, I went to a conference on sustainable urbanism, and one speaker—a forceful advocate for urban rewilding—said something that lodged in my brain. He pointed out that our cities are an extension of our species’ habitats, and like any habitat, they should nourish us, shelter us, and help us thrive. Yet so many times, we build our cities in ways that feel almost hostile, like the inverse of a home. Exterior biophilic design gives us the chance to change all that. To take our unloved structures and make them not just loved but, you know, life-giving.
The most promising development on the horizon is the use of technology to support biophilic design. We are beginning to see real innovation in this area. I don’t even want to call it “biophilic design” anymore, because it has felt for too long like something architecturally elite, something you could do if you had the fancy architects and the money. And yet, the tools of design can either support or undermine the perception of biophilia as something that ought to be for everyone. Technology can be used (or not used) in ways that either make it feasible to have living things all around us or that keep living things just a bit too far away to feel comfortable. So let’s see what sorts of technological innovation are making it ever easier and, by some measures, ever more cost-effective to implement biophilic design.
At its core, biophilic building design is an opportunity to reconnect with the natural world, even in the urban spaces where we live and work. Every building exterior is an opportunity for growth—not just plants but community, well-being, and resilience. Being close to nature is crucial. With every biophilic façade, green rooftop, or living wall, we take a meaningful step toward cultivating cities that inspire us.
Having seen up close the crucial shift towards nature-infused urban spaces, where once poverty and despair ruled, I am a firm believer in all forms of biophilia as potent triggers for enduring, positive change up and down the socioeconomic ladder. As I recently told friends during a series of dinners in my home, it’s not just architects and designers who are experiencing this transformation. We all are. Biophilic design is for you, too. It’s about creating urban experiences that vibrantly incorporate the essence of life—delighting the senses and nourishing the souls of those who inhabit our public and private spaces.
Envision a city where every structure, no matter the sort, is a verdant beacon alive with the sounds of birds, the rustle of leaves, and the scents of flowers. This is not merely a utopian fantasy—it is a vision we can realize if we choose to put the principles of biophilia at the core of our design philosophies. For my part, I’m excited about the prospect of that transformation. I’m thrilled to continue designing skins for buildings that invite nature back into our shared experience and to witness the burgeoning of our biophilic cities.
