Chrysler Building, the unapologetic Art Deco icon is once again looking for a new owner

Completed on the cusp of the 1929 crash “no matter what”, with a ZIP code of its own – like only a few other buildings – crowned the tallest building in the world in its first year of life, 1930, and the forerunner of all “supertalls” worldwide, it was the first to surpass 300 meters in height. Its spire, all decorative and apparently no technical, shaped like a Campari bottle –allowing a bit of Italian appropriation – reflects the rays of an electric sun of progress through seven concentric levels clad in gleaming steel. Because while the Empire State Building is the city’s institutional face, good for any occasion, the Chrysler Building, which we’re talking about, loudly expresses the city’s contrasts, its true character that’s anything but average, one that shows itself only in emotional highs—or equally emotional lows.

At this point, it doesn’t matter that it’s the tallest steel structure clad in brick (and in metal again; a precursor of postmodernism by 50 years), or that it holds other technical records: its primacy is, and will likely remain, cultural. This piece of architecture by William Van Alen was born in a time and spirit of ever-ambitious escalation: its height was increased multiple times from the original concept to its realization, and its story is that of a commission formed under a brand embodied by a man with a first and last name: Walter Chrysler, Mr. Chrysler, in a comic- or a Monopoly-match- tone. It was such a personal venture that it wasn’t even built as the headquarters for the eponymous car company: it was an investment by Walter for his children.

And there's an English adjective that captures such essence both in form and substance: unapologetic. In Italian, we might say “sfacciato”, but that only gets halfway there. The building is tied to the city right down to its underground: Grand Central subway station has a direct exit into the lobby’s basement – a cave of steel, black stone, and metaphysical neon sconces, where until recently, you could even visit a shoeshine shop. It makes the Chrysler a frontier, as it’s effectively the subway exit for the United Nations (you can’t get any closer: it’s international territory). Once above ground, the lobby tells the whole story, with yellow Sienese travertine and red African granite, every functional element transformed into a note in a monumental decorative composition, a literal Art Deco manual: from the clocks to elevator dials, lamps, and near-futuristic signage.

But the Chrysler carries its contrasts throughout its history, not just in dramatic decoration. Starting with the material aspect: like every great icon, the building, declared a city landmark in the late 1970s – thank goodness, considering New York’s tendency to constantly rewrite itself – is notoriously in need of at least infrastructural updates: various reports in the U.S. press have recently described pipes now dispensing non-potable water, to name but one point.

Then comes the issue of ownership. The land belongs to Cooper Union, so anyone buying the building must also pay the university over $30 million a year in rent. As reported by the U.S. press the skyscraper’s last owner – but just a tenant of the land, and long since unrelated to the Chrysler name – had acquired the building for $151 million (after it was listed at $800 million in 2008: a bargain), but was just evicted for rent default, with a $21 million notice. Real estate firm Savills is now tasked by the university with selling the building again, at a yet-to-be-announced price, but with the expectation of a “new vision” for the structure and the guarantee of covering an increasing rent.

That’s what can happen to an unapologetic icon in a global era ruled by cold calculation. But let’s remember, even this building was born in times of cold calculation: only, that time, the calculations were aimed skyward.

Opening image: Photo kropic from Adobe Stock