“Packing Them In”: A Short Cultural History of Density

Why today's approach to housing density misses the lessons of centuries.

We’ve heard the sermon by now:

Density is good. It’s sustainable. It saves land. It prevents urban sprawl. It encourages neighbourly interactions, public transport, shared infrastructure. And when done well, it can indeed be a triumph of urban design - think of the historic cores of Florence or Lisbon.

But then there’s modern density.

The kind that slips in under the banner of “smart growth” and “vibrant communities”, only to materialize as a few dozen small flats wedged into what used to be a family home with garden, character, and breathing space. The kind where you start hearing every single cough, argument, and phone notification from next door. The kind where public space becomes private smoking territory, and staircases turn into daily theatre.

Somewhere between Vitruvius, the famous Roman architect, and value engineering, something went very wrong.

To understand where today's density goes wrong, we need to look at where historical density got it right.

A Brief History of Living Close

Let’s be clear: humans have lived densely for millennia. Ancient cities were tightly packed. Medieval towns were rabbit warrens of overlapping lives. In many ways, we’re wired for proximity, it’s where culture happens. Where the market buzzes, the festival spills into the street, and ideas rub elbows with one another. Density, in theory, is not the problem.

But in historic high-density environments, craft met constraint. Narrow alleyways gave way to beautiful courtyards. Buildings touched, but they were lovingly detailed. Streets bustled, but were scaled to humans, not delivery vans. The density was social, architectural, and artisanal. Not just numerical.

Density, the old-fashioned way. Tight quarters, but with restraint and respect.

What we see today is something completely different: a soulless spreadsheet density.

Take, for example, the recent developments here in Luxembourg, where single-family homes were replaced by apartment buildings with lots of small apartments. The developer's brochure calls it “luxury urban living”. The neighbours call it something else entirely. This isn't just a housing solution - it's a cultural imposition.

Measured in units per hectare, not quality per square metre. A top-down policy logic that says “add housing”, without stopping to ask what kind of housing, for whom, in what kind of cultural fabric?

Density vs. Dignity

In Luxembourg, as in many parts of Europe, the solution to housing shortages has been to densify, especially in town and village centres. That means knocking down older homes, slicing up gardens, and putting up apartment blocks in places where the streets were never meant to absorb them.

But we might ask: what kind of future are we implanting?

Because density, if not culturally calibrated, creates tension. Not always the creative kind.

In a country where politeness isn’t exactly an Olympic sport, where noise tolerance is low but building ambition is high, crowding people into tighter quarters doesn’t magically produce urbanity.

It produces friction. Frustration. And more “for sale” signs from those who can afford to flee.

And if the town or village core becomes the default location for this kind of urban pressure, if the old houses and tight lanes are endlessly re-divided and re-coded, then density becomes just another word for dumping.

Lessons from the Past (That We're Ignoring)

The best historical densities didn’t just “fit more people.” They built entire cultures of cohabitation. Shared wells. Arcades. Covered passages. Passive cooling. Shade. Ornament. Large gardens visible from the street. There was density, but with lots of advantages and quality of life.

And crucially: there was a social contract. Behavioural norms. Town planning rooted in how people actually lived - not just what a developer could squeeze in with a rubber-stamp permit and a traffic flow Diagramme.

This social contract wasn't just implicit - it was often codified in local customs, guild regulations, and community expectations. Neighbours knew when to be quiet, when communal spaces could be used for private purposes, and how to negotiate the inevitable frictions of proximity. These weren't just buildings close together; they were communities designed for sustainable coexistence over generations. In a nutshell: People knew how to behave, and this cannot often said for people living close together these days.

Today, we skip the soft parts. We build for headcount, not hospitality. For ROI, not rhythm. Then we act surprised when people feel overwhelmed, boxed in, irritated - or simply leave.

Welcome to spreadsheet urbanism. Geometry: perfect. Humanity: optional.

Final Thoughts: Build Closer, But Build Better

Density isn’t the enemy. But mediocrity design and thought is.

And density without creative design, without the cultural infrastructure that makes close living humane - is simply just one thing: crowding and overcrowding.

Let’s not confuse tight spacing with smart planning.

And let’s stop pretending that stuffing old villages or town centres with flats is automatically progress.

Sometimes it's just a failure of imagination, a lack of understanding of human nature, of cultural understanding, and of long-term thinking.

The real challenge isn't “packing”more people in. It's creating spaces where proximity fosters community rather than conflict, where density enhances rather than diminishes.

Better urban planning would make Luxembourg special. And it is a shame to watch the old adage that money can’t buy imagination.

written by Helen M. Krauss