The Inner Studio - Riverside Architectural Press

Yonge Street
TORONTO: THE CITY WHO IS WHOLE
If University Avenue represents the persona of the city, Yonge Street
represents it’s enduring life force. Yes, it is reputed to be the longest
street in the world, some say 1,200 miles in length, but for our
purposes, the fact that it links several area codes is less important
then what happens in its first few miles. The Yonge Street that
matters most to Toronto is a small-town, honky-tonk strip that has
changed less then any other part of the downtown. It is a stubborn
place of bars, dollar stores, sex shops, ethnic restaurants, and used
book stores that gives us a clear snapshot of what the city has on
its mind when we leave it alone. The people who roam the street
on summer nights looking for adventure are being secretly initiated
into what urban culture has to offer. This street hosts a constant
coming-out party for the younger citizens of the city. Whether you
live in some dull distant suburb or have just stepped off the late bus
from North Bay, Yonge Street is always waiting for you with big,
open, tattooed arms. There isn’t an architecturally grand or mystical
moment to be found. Just people moving up and down the
street in our version of an Italian passegiata. Part carnival, part
urban Kundalini, part civic lesson, the role of the street is humble
but important–it teaches us about the potential for collective public
life in the city. My favorite nights are the weekend of Caribana,
when the place floods with tourists, many from cities where walking
at night is dangerous, who instantly join in the intensely
sensual parade. Yes, if you are looking for clubs, good dining, or
shopping, there are more popular destinations, but Yonge Street is
not a destination. It is a local myth that somehow manages to
always feel unaffected and slightly rural. The intense stretch from
Queen to Bloor is a catwalk of a place by night and an international
gallery of dollar stores by day. Short stretches of the street have
been gentrified, but mostly by accidents of ambition and real
estate. The street is stained and slightly desperate and allows the
glands of the city to mingle and speak. It is Yonge Street that saves
us from having to build a museum about the city.
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