Brutalism is unapologetic, a bit like dark art. These aren’t buildings that whisper politely into the skyline. They dominate, provoke, and, depending on who you ask, either scar or strengthen the cityscape. And that’s exactly why they are so fascinating.
If you’ve ever stood in front of a concrete monolith and felt like it was staring back at you, not caring what you think, it was probably Brutalist. But before we get too romantic, let’s rewind a little.
What is Brutalism, exactly?
Brutalism has nothing to do with violence, although you’d be forgiven for thinking so based on some of the architecture. The name actually comes from the French béton brut, meaning “raw concrete.” And raw is exactly what it is, visually and emotionally. Born in post-WWII Europe, Brutalism emerged as a rejection of ornament and superficial design. It prioritised utility, honesty, and materials in their most naked form.
It’s heavy concrete, massive forms, repeated modular elements, and geometric lines that feel more sculptural than structural. These buildings were often government housing, libraries, universities, and civic centres, public buildings, designed with the intention of serving the masses.
The philosophy behind the concrete
Brutalism was a statement. It was a reaction to post-war reconstruction, to the need for fast, affordable housing and infrastructure. It was socialist at heart, democratic in intent. These buildings were meant to be shared, lived in, experienced by everyone, not just admired from afar.
And while the movement has been dismissed as cold and oppressive, I believe there’s a misunderstood tenderness to Brutalism. There’s something deeply human in its effort to create something honest, something unvarnished, even when it’s flawed.
Barbican Estate, London
A labyrinth of raw concrete, elevated walkways, and bold lines, an entire ecosystem that feels both futuristic and ancient at once. It’s also, oddly, kind of romantic.
Boston City Hall, USA
Possibly one of the most debated Brutalist structures in America. Loved and loathed in equal measure, it’s a prime example of form following function, and then some.
The Church of John XXIII
Designed by Heinz Bienefeld, this sculptural concrete church sits on the edge of the University of Cologne campus. Its windowless façade feels like a medieval fortress at first glance, but step inside and you’re met with serene, sacred minimalism. Brutalism at its most spiritual.
Aula TU Delft, Netherlands
The Aula, by Jaap Bakema and Johannes van den Broek, is a geometric giant planted at the heart of the university. With its sharp concrete lines and sloping roof, it commands attention without a hint of showiness. This is where Brutalism meets academic ambition, and it wears it well.
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, The Hague, Netherlands
Also known as the “AZ Building,” this monolithic tower by architect Dick Apon once housed the Dutch Foreign Ministry which I used to pass frequently. With its rigid grid and commanding presence, it’s the architectural equivalent of a raised eyebrow, cool, composed, and impossible to ignore.
The Ninth Fort in Kaunas, Lithuania
Part war memorial, part sculpture, the Ninth Fort monument by Alfonsas Vincentas Ambraziūnas is a fierce, fractured Brutalist masterpiece. Its jagged concrete forms rise like a frozen scream from the earth, commemorating the atrocities committed on the site during World War II. Haunting, powerful, and unforgettable.
Brutalism as a creative metaphor
If you’re a creative, you’ll relate to the emotional backbone of Brutalism. It’s about the truth rather than perfection or polished results. Much like an artist’s rough sketch, a raw demo, or a first draft, Brutalist structures reveal their process. You can see the scaffolding in the design, the seams in the concrete. And that imperfection is where the magic lives.
Brutalism is what happens when you stop trying to please everyone and start telling the truth, about materials, about function, about people.
The love/hate divide
People either love Brutalism, defend it with passion, photograph it obsessively, or they loathe it, want it demolished, and call it an eyesore. There’s rarely any middle ground.
Why people hate it
Let’s start with the critiques, because there are plenty. Detractors often describe Brutalist buildings as:
- Cold, grey, and soulless
- Oppressive and intimidating
- Reminders of failed post-war urban planning
- “Ugly” or “depressing”
Some of this comes down to the material itself, bare concrete (especially when weathered) tends to stain, crack, or grow moss, giving a building a neglected, even dystopian look. Others tie it to emotion and memory. In places like the UK, former Eastern Bloc countries, and parts of Western Europe, Brutalism is often associated with failed housing projects, state bureaucracy, or even surveillance culture.
A 2009 YouGov survey provides insight into this divide. When presented with images of building designs, 77% of respondents preferred traditional architecture, while only 23% favored contemporary styles, which often encompass Brutalist elements. This suggests a significant leaning towards conventional architectural forms among the public.
Why people love it
And yet… Brutalism has a growing cult following. For its fans, Brutalism is raw honesty. It’s form as function, unvarnished. There’s a certain poetic melancholy in these concrete structures, a kind of stark romanticism that resonates, especially with creatives, designers, and younger generations who didn’t grow up under its shadow.
Despite historical preferences for traditional designs, Brutalism has experienced a resurgence in the digital era. Social media platforms, particularly Instagram, have played a pivotal role in this revival. As of March 2024, the hashtag #brutalism appeared in nearly 1.5 million posts, indicating a burgeoning interest in the style. This trend highlights a growing appreciation for Brutalist aesthetics among younger generations and digital communities.
So, what’s the deal? And what side are you on?
This love/hate split reveals more about us than it does about the buildings themselves. If you’re drawn to romanticism, nostalgia, or symbolism in design, you might find Brutalism deeply meaningful. If you prefer warmth, softness, or human-scale architecture, it might leave you cold. It’s one of the few movements where public perception is shaped as much by emotion and politics as it is by design. But maybe that’s why it matters. What side are you on?
Is Brutalism making a comeback?
Absolutely. There’s been a resurgence in Brutalist appreciation, especially among younger architects, photographers, and even fashion designers. Social media has also helped elevate Brutalism to cult status. Scroll through Instagram, and you’ll find brutalist staircases, shadowy corridors, and monochrome colour palettes plastered across aesthetic feeds. There’s something seductive about its starkness. In an over-filtered world, Brutalism is oddly refreshing.
Final thoughts
Brutalism isn’t for everyone, and that’s the point. It challenges, confronts, and sometimes even unsettles. But if you stand quietly in front of one of these structures and listen carefully, you might just hear something. Not a whisper, but a presence.
A reminder that beauty doesn’t always come dressed in gloss and grace. Sometimes, it stands there in plain grey concrete, daring you to look deeper.