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I am a child of the 1980s, along with everyone involved in this magazine. And it shows. These were the years of Thatcher, twats shouting down giant mobile phones, coke-fuelled orgies soundtracked by the Pet Shop Boys, pastel tones, miners’ strikes and many other clichés.
This decade has a lot to answer for, not least in its pile-it-high, sell-it-cheap attitude towards irony. Irony 40 stories high. Irony smeared across Britain. The architecture of the 1980s, the era of the high-corporate, financial service and call centre office postmodernist style has left a strange trail across British cities. Ubiquitous and genuinely charmless, these buildings don’t garner the same hatred ascribed to 1960s social architecture whose presence is generally so much more monumental, utopian, literally concrete. In contrast, 80s architecture sits on the periphery of city centres, having abandoned all social and architectural ambition of improving its surroundings, retreating inside an awkward, faulty revolving door at the end of a patterned brick paved car park. (more…)
February 11, 2009