5280 – If you’re from Denver, that number resonates. It’s everywhere, marking the “Mile High City.” From the row of purple seats in Coors Field to the engraved granite on the fifteenth step of the Colorado State Capitol, the mark of 5,280 feet above sea level appears again and again. (Note: Some 1969 researchers put the distinction of 5,280 feet at the 18th Capitol step, and in 2003, they changed it again to the 13th step. So let’s just say it’s approximately a mile high.)
I had the privilege of visiting Denver earlier this month for the American Planning Association’s conference (#npc25). During the sessions and tours, one theme kept emerging: authenticity. Everyone is chasing it, and nobody’s quite sure how they got it, if it seems to have been caught. It’s marketable, distinctive, and deeply human. No one wants to be generic. It may be DC’s go-go, Chicago’s flag, Portland’s airport carpet, or Denver’s love affair with 5280 – and let’s not forget that blue bear peeking into the convention center or the even stranger blue horse at the airport. It’s memorable and gives something for people to latch onto, to talk about, and to obligatorily post online.
Sometimes it’s a carefully crafted public relations campaign. Other times, it just…happens. A symbol takes root in the collective consciousness. Can authenticity be designed? Is it something physical, or is it more of a vibe?
Would Portland’s airport carpet be iconic without the city embracing its own weirdness? Would Denver’s elevation matter if the citizens weren’t so connected to exploring its natural landscapes and geography? So how do we, as urban designers, architects, landscape architects, planners, etc., participate in building authentic cities?
When we begin a new project, we are often asked to reflect on our past experiences – how that last design that everyone liked may apply here. However, if it’s about authenticity, surely we want to put past experiences and precedents to the side – or at least let them fill a tertiary role in the process. It must be about understanding the context of that place and importantly the people who shape it. On a recent project, we had a rich discussion about public art: its role as symbol, as memorial, as a cultural touchpoint, or even provocateur. But the conversation continued to return to the tension between ephemeral and permanent expression, what lasts and what should emerge and fade with time. Both can contribute to the identity and memory of a place.
So what can we do as designers?
We can collaborate with neighbors, elected officials, experts, artists, and builders. Collectively, we try to leave a mark that’s of the place, not just on the place. If we’re lucky, the community embraces it as their own. A mythology may take hold for a few years, decades, centuries…
It’s not something that we can fully plan and that’s probably what we like about it. But if it is rooted in the place – if it’s truly of that place – maybe it has a better chance to be loved, made, reimagined, and possibly live on for many more stories to unfold. And maybe, just maybe, it helps a city feel more like itself – and helps each of us feel more like us.
Scott Archer, AIA, AICP, LEED AP ND
2025 RUDC Chair