The GTA keeps building up and out, but planners, politicians and many citizens prefer midrises. So why aren’t more builders interested in a middle ground?
Catherine Mulroney
The mood in the room was tense, Niall Haggart says, the night he pitched his company’s plan for a midrise condominium to a public meeting in Oakville.
More than 700 people were in attendance, and it was an affluent, professional well-educated crowd, recalls Haggart, vice-president of the Daniels Corp.
“It was acrimonious,” he says, “because people in Oakville are passionate about their community and change is often greeted with less than enthusiasm.”
But he also says that an interesting thing happened following the meeting. “Some people hung back … and said, `Mr. Haggart, keep going. I want to buy one of your units.’”
It’s an experience that speaks to the contradictions inherent in the world of midrise and mixed-use developments.
Buildings in the five- to 12-storey range hold an appeal to both city planners and many potential owners. They’re often seen as neighbourhood-friendly, offering the intimacy of a smaller number of residents who can live at tree level and with a sense of connection to community and the street.
Many also see midrise as a format that has brought a special blend of density and livability to many great international cities – as well as some parts of Toronto.
But if midrise seems to fit the bill, why have so many developers decided not to take a chance on the format? Why is so much of the GTA’s new development still driven to extremes – highrise or sprawl?
“Midrise buildings are not easy projects to build,” says Howard Cohen, principal of Context Development, which builds mid- and highrises.
Along with sometimes “vehement” community opposition, he says the properties tend to be proposed for small parcels of land, which can make parking expensive if there is a need to create underground spaces.
Other issues, such as loading requirements and fire access, can also get complicated.
With potential revenue limited by the smaller number of units, delays due to anything from zoning regulations through to community opposition can make the projects too much of a gamble for a builder’s time, energy and capital.
One of the greatest frustrations in Toronto, Cohen says, is working with inconsistent zoning, and at times being at the mercy of the local city councillor.
He notes, for example, that Bayview Ave. has been designated a neighbourhood street, limiting any construction to four storeys, “if you can get approval.
“If the city wants these types of buildings it must facilitate the process,” he stresses.
“There are things we can do with the city to make approvals smoother,” agrees Robert Freedman, the city’s director of urban design.
One of the steps already taken is the approval of an inter-divisional group to look at co-ordination of planning and approval, with curb cuts and water mains no longer existing in isolation.
Building more midrise developments “is absolutely the way the city wants to go,” he says.
There are challenges, though. With 75 per cent of Toronto considered stable residential neighbourhoods, the question of blending in can be challenging, if the developer can even acquire enough property on which to build.
Proximity to public transit and the number of bedrooms in a unit can affect the number of parking spaces required, which increases costs, while extras such as the need for an elevator in buildings once routinely considered walk-up height adds to the bill, Freedman acknowledges.
Still, “there’s much more middies building going on than you’d think,” says Barry Lyon, a Toronto real estate consultant, pointing to construction downtown from Yonge St. to Leslie St. and buildings along King St from Niagara St. to Broadview Ave.
But Lyon agrees that the construction of mixed-use buildings in the five- to 12-storey range can be fraught with challenges.
From a design perspective, there are problems related to how and where the shadows of the buildings fall. While highrise towers can be tall and elegant, some midrise buildings suffer from “squash and spread,” which results in longer-lasting shadows, he notes.
“Without architectural TLC these buildings can be boring unless they have European-style terraces, balconies and insets but that all adds to costs,” Lyon says.
Those increased expenses are slapped on top of buildings with fewer units to begin with, and because midrises mean passing up the ability to charge higher prices for the views that come with units on higher floors, the profit margin can be challenging.
And then there are questions of aesthetics.
“Midrise buildings blend well, but the problem comes when they line either side of the street and you build canyons,” Lyon warns.
One of the reasons this can occur is because “what’s missing is a city-wide vision of midrise (buildings), which serve as a transition from the main streets to the side streets.”
Add in the concerns of the neighbours and no one can predict the fate of construction proposals, even though community fears about property values dropping are unfounded, he notes.
“Consider the Benvenuto,” he says, citing the classic midrise building at the crest of Avenue Rd., south of St. Clair Ave. The Peter Dickinson-designed property bears a heritage designation and is home to Scaramouche, one of Toronto’s toniest restaurants.
“It’s a lovely example of a midrise fitting into a neighbourhood but it likely wouldn’t get proposed today.”
Cohen also points out that midrises also aren’t necessarily the best way to provide housing in established neighbourhoods.
“You may get less light, less privacy and more neighbourhood noise,” he says, especially in the midrises typically built on main thoroughfares.
Sensitivity to surroundings makes it far easier to build on the verges of established neighbourhoods of single-family homes, Freedman says.
As an example, he cites Context’s Ideal Loft project near College and Bathurst Sts., which is terraced down so it doesn’t loom large over neighbouring houses.
The city’s general rule for midrise construction is that the building should be designed only up to a height as tall as the street is wide, Freedman explains.
It’s a model that has worked well in cities such as Paris and Buenos Aires, he adds, and says that when done well, can beautify the streetscape, enhance viability of public transit and create homes that are of particular appeal to seniors because of their proximity to stores and other services.
As for Daniels’ 12-storey project in Oakville – called One Eleven Forsythe – it went all the way to the Ontario Municipal Board and the developer succeeded by reaching out to the community and establishing a working committee with residents.
“If there’s a willingness, we can resolve things,” Haggart says, adding there are only a handful of units left with completion of the building slated for next fall.
Opposition from a similar demographic greeted Daniels’ Kilgour Estates proposal in North Leaside. Local residents expressed fears over the project’s proximity to existing housing and details such as whether mechanical spaces like elevator caps would be in the line of sight. With the luxury of 4.8 hectares, however, the firm was able to take steps such as situating the tallest part, an eight-storey building, overlooking a ravine, so it was not flush with the established neighbourhood.
The best-known phrase in real estate is location, location, location. But the one that probably applies best to making midrises work in the GTA is compromise, compromise, compromise.