This Was Tomorrow: re-imagined
’m very happy to share the third edition of This Was Tomorrow—a new, limited version of the book originally available at RIBA Bookshop and the London Review Bookshop.
The words are by Judith Martin, architectural conservationist and historian. The design and production? That’s a collaboration between me, Richard “Foe” Grainger (whose layout instincts are wicked), and the excellent Porto-based Devity Studio.
This version isn’t just a reprint—it’s a reimagining. Less book-as-object, more object-in-motion. A tool, a companion, a field recorder for stray thoughts and sharp provocations. It’s playful on purpose, a little rough in the right places. Designed to clash with the seriousness of its themes—and to help shake something loose.
Because the point of this book has never been just about buildings or preservation. It’s about utopia—not as some unreachable dream, but as a tool. A lens. A way of thinking better futures into existence. And if you haven’t noticed, we desperately need to.
The last 30 years of global economics have stripped us of the ability to imagine alternatives. We live in a system where constant growth is the law, gain is the only measure, and hard work is sold as a magic key. And yet, here we are: people working two jobs and still unable to pay rent, while serial landlords and passive shareholders hoard resources with zero effort and even less empathy.
Calling housing a human right? Radical. Suggesting that rents should be capped? Revolutionary. Meanwhile, owning ten flats and renting them all out is “smart investing.” Nothing about this setup is fair—or even functional. And let’s not pretend it’s “charity” to question it.
If people don’t have homes, or peace of mind, or a sliver of spare energy, they can’t even participate in this system. Not even as good little consumers. Capitalism is stalling. And the ones with private islands? They’ll be fine. But the rest of us need to wake up.
Because no one is coming to fix this. Not some politician, not a startup, not a prince charming in a Patagonia fleece. It’s all for profit now. Everything—except the love we share, and the corners of nature that still resist.
There’s so much potential in people. And don’t believe the story that humans are selfish by nature. That’s just the bedtime story the wealthy tell themselves to sleep at night—an old, boring fable by those terrified of sharing.
The answer isn’t to have nothing. The answer is to rethink what having even means. Property isn’t sacred. Technology should improve lives, not build empires. Money is a tool, not a destination. Being rich doesn’t make you interesting—it just means you’re good at hoarding. Good for you. Now what?
When platforms have millions of users, they’re no longer “private ventures”—they’re public utilities. And they should be owned as such. Imagine building systems from the ground up, where laws reflect lived realities, not just protect those sitting on piles of capital.
The myth of the self-made billionaire? Absolute fiction. At best, your skills make up 5% of your “success.” The other 95% is your environment—your family, your networks, the schools you could access, the chances you were given. We’ve built a system where only the extraordinary make it out. Everyone else has to contort themselves into some perfect, productive, high-functioning version of what? A servant? A brand? A smiling pitch?
That’s not human. That’s eugenics with better PR.
We’re standing at the edge of another industrial revolution. Like in the 1800s, we have the tools to work less, share more, and rebalance the equation. But will we? Probably not. Because most of us are still asleep.
This book is not a solution. But it’s a contribution. A signal. An invitation to keep dreaming, even when hope feels pointless. Because if we give up on that, we’ve already lost.
Let’s keep building—even if it’s just thoughts, questions, new ways of seeing. From the cracks of the current mess, something else can grow.
