Throughout the twentieth century, work­spaces were constructed as physical exten­sions of a production model that relied on a predominantly functional view of indi­viduals. The Ford factory, with its steady and measured rhythm, was a perfect rep­resentation of the model of the period: or­der, predictability, repetition. The admin­istrative office was the civil version of this philosophy, a place where hierarchy was expressed through architecture. These en­vironments forged the domineering and persistent idea that work should adapt to available space, rather than the opposite. The desk was seen more as a symbol than as a support. The same went for the corridors, closed rooms and frosted glass that separat­ed roles and marked distance.

The emergence of modernism brought a new aesthetic, but did nothing to change this paradigm. The glass-clad facades of the Sixties, with transparency as a metaphor for openness and modularity promising ef­ficiency, all appeared to indicate a change. In reality, it was a new way to underscore the idea of efficiency as a primarily rational value. Natural light, ample surfaces and in­dustrial materials were all tools for render­ing work more linear, rapid and controlla­ble. Individuals continued to represent an element within a system that was itself un­questionable. Modernist offices were perfect settings, although they rarely expressed a sense of belonging, created to be functional rather than welcoming.

When the open space took hold in the Nineties, many saw this as marking the de­finitive arrival of a new concept of collabo­ration. The elimination of walls appeared to also express the breaking down of cul­tural barriers. The open space promised transparency, informality and the con­stant flow of ideas. However, reality demon­strated how that fluidity often led to a loss of intimacy. People no longer had space in which to concentrate, isolate themselves and breathe. Too often, the open-space office became an environment where everything was possible in theory, but where very lit­tle actually happened. It became, above all, a place that saw the loss of a fundamental concept: that of identity.

Then came the digital revolution, rapid and relentless, and – lastly – the pandem­ic, which accelerated all the evolutions that had remained suspended. Remote work­ing separated presence from productivity. It demonstrated that physical space was not strictly essential for completing tasks or achieving goals. For the first time ever, entire organisations discovered that it was possible to work without sharing common space. This led to freedom, flexibility and autonomy, but it also saw the loss of spon­taneous communication, of chance, and of that kind of informal exchange that, with­out anyone realising, represented the true cultural fabric of the working community. 

On returning, even partially, to the of­fice, many people saw those spaces in a new light. Spaces that for decades had seemed ‘normal. suddenly appeared impersonal, devoid of warmth and designed more for containment than for expression. Without the need for daily presence, the limitations of the office became evident: it was not made to generate desire. This lack of desirability has become the core question of the present. Why return to a place that offers nothing that cannot be obtained elsewhere? What is the added value of physical vicinity? What characteristic of a space can demon­strate that being together is better than be­ing alone?

It is within this fracture that contempo­rary transformations are taking place, with the rediscovery of space as experience, lan­guage and a living aspect of organisational culture. No longer a neutral container or a collection of square metres to be optimised, but rather an organism, an element that has something to express and that influences be­haviour, relationships and shared values. Contemporary workspace planning entails taking on the new responsibility of inter­preting people’s deep-set needs and lending them form. This brings into play three con­cepts that, until just a few years ago, were not considered to be central to company de­sign: care, beauty and awareness. 

Care is what turns a collection of rooms into an inhabited space. It means atten­tion to detail, to materials, to light and to sound. It represents the desire to create en­vironments with which people can identify, in which one perceives intent. Care tells people that their well-being is part of the de­sign, rather than a secondary aspect. This changes everything, because the quality of a space has a direct influence on the qual­ity of relationships that develop within. A well-designed space fosters kindness, atten­tiveness and collaboration.

In this sense, beauty is not merely decora­tive. It is a form of energy. It is the ability of a space to generate in its inhabitants a sen­sation of well-being, openness and oppor­tunity. A beautiful space is not necessarily rich or spectacular; it is harmonious, open to interpretation and capable of speaking to the senses as well as simply addressing function. Beauty is what encourages people to return. No place devoid of desire can gen­erate community.

Awareness, ultimately, is the most pro­found aspect of the transformation. A space is never isolated: it exists within a city, a district, a story. Designing with aware­ness means understanding that the work­place is also an urban and political act, in the broadest sense of the term: a way to be part of collective life. This is why the choice to remain in urban centres rather than moving to more convenient or economical suburbs takes on particular importance. It means underscoring ties with the commu­nity, with the memory and the complexity of the city. It makes a statement: our work is not separate from the world, but rather part of it.

The consequence of all this is that the de­sign of workspace can no longer simply re­spond to functional demands. It needs to serve more deeply set needs. What happens when we enter a place? What type of ener­gy is expressed? How can relations be facili­tated or hindered? How does it represent us? Above all, how does it make us feel?

A rethinking of space demands a rethink­ing of work itself. It means understanding that physical presence cannot be taken for granted, which is precisely why it needs to be celebrated. It means recognising that a space is not simply the location of activi­ties, but rather of the factors that help gen­erate culture, identity and a sense of be­longing. After a century in which efficiency was the guiding principle, we are now dis­covering that the true measure of a space is not how much work it generates, but rather how much vitality it stimulates. A well-de­signed office does not maximise the number of workstations: it allows for significant re­lations, shared ideas and forms of collabo­ration that no digital platform can repro­duce. It is a space that supports the commu­nity, inspiring it and lending it form.

After having discovered that we can work anywhere, we are now also learning that we do not want to. We desire spaces that reflect us, welcome us and speak to us. Places that are not neutral, but that express who we are and, above all, who we want to become. Now, more than ever, to design a workplace is to design identity.

Opening image: Photo StockCake