Cities 26 (2009) 210–219

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Sustaining creativity in the creative archetype: The case of Austin, Texas

Joshua Long *

Mount Holyoke College, Geology and Geography, South Hadley, MA, United States

a r t i c l e i n f o a b s t r a c t

Article history:Received 14 January 2009Received in revised form 19 March 2009Accepted 23 March 2009Available online 7 May 2009

Keywords:Creative cityRichard FloridaUrban cultural landscapesPlace attachment

0264-2751/$ - see front matter � 2009 Elsevier Ltd. Adoi:10.1016/j.cities.2009.03.004

* Current address: Franklin College Switzerland,Sorengo, Lugano, Switzerland. Tel.: +1 413 538 2278538 2239.

E-mail address: joshlong@mtholyoke.edu

Recently, the popular literature on creative industries and the urban creative landscape has been largelydominated by the work of one scholar, Richard Florida. The popularity of Richard Florida’s work has led toa zealous implementation of his creative class thesis by many city officials, policymakers, and urban plan-ners. Recent studies have investigated the impact of creative city implementation in previously workingclass and industrial cities, but given Florida’s popularity and influence, it is also necessary to evaluate thesustainability of cities touted as creative success stories by Florida and others. This article examines thecase of Austin, Texas, seeking to evaluate Florida’s model city in light of recent empirical research. Thisresearch suggests that while Austin has witnessed impressive economic prosperity, the ‘‘externalities”or unforeseen challenges associated with creative development are equally evident. Further, this researchsuggests that previously overlooked socio-cultural challenges (e.g. loss of urban cultural character, senseof detachment, over-commercialization) in Austin threaten to potentially undermine the sustainability ofthis mode of development.

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Introduction In popular media, however, the outpouring of praise has squelched

Since the publication of Rise of the Creative Class in 2002,the work of Richard Florida has been a favorite target of urbanscholarly critics. As Florida’s creative class thesis gained main-stream popularity, early contrarians voiced concerns of elitism(Maliszewski, 2004) and circular logic (Malanga, 2004). These weresoon followed by a mix of economists, urban planners, and geogra-phers who took issue with Florida’s anecdotal methodology, vagueclassification, shaky analysis, and ‘pop sociology’ (Glaeser, 2004;Peck, 2005; Markusen and Schrock, 2006; Scott, 2006; Rantisiet al., 2006; and others). Most recently, Geografiska Annaler Bfeatured several articles analyzing Florida’s strategies for theattraction of creative talent (Houston et al., 2008), his assumptionsof causality in economic growth (Stam et al., 2008), and his ambig-uous coupling of ‘‘creativity” and ‘‘culture industries” (Pratt, 2008).Although many of these recent studies carefully critique the crea-tive class thesis, there remains a consistent judgment of Florida’swork that falls just short of vitriolic, portraying his policy prescrip-tions as ‘‘neo-liberal snake oil” (Peck, 2005), his anecdotal musingsas ‘‘yuppie self-indulgence” (Zimmerman, 2008), and his advocatesas displaying the ‘‘heady passion of a religious movement” (Kotkinand Siegel, 2004). Given such damming criticism, it is difficult toimagine that policy makers, urban planners, or city governancewould ever consider implementing the Floridian ‘‘creativity script.”

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any mention of scholarly criticism. Among city planners and entre-preneurs, Florida has achieved near rockstar status, ‘‘attracting thetype of attention usually garnered by salacious fiction or celebritytell-alls” (Dreher, 2002, p. 1). Rise of the Creative Class has receivedaccolades from sources as varied as The Financial Times (2008) andThe Colbert Report (2007). Florida’s most recent work, Who’s YourCity, touted celebrity endorsements from the likes of Cybill Shep-herd and Chef Mario Batali.

Since Rise of the Creative Class, Florida has published three newbooks: Cities and the Creative Class (2005a), Flight of the CreativeClass (2005b), and Who’s Your City (2008)—the latter of which hasbecome an international best seller. These recent works add to aFloridian creative canon that now includes six books, more thana dozen articles, and countless editorials, guest columns, blogs, lec-tures, and interviews (many of which are easily accessed throughhis flashy website: http://www.creativeclass.com). As some havenoted, Florida’s popularity has allowed him to create an industryout of his own work (Gibson and Kong, 2005), and it seems thata ‘‘new-found cult of creativity” is facilitating the introduction ofa paradigm shift in urban planning policy (Peck, 2005).

While urban scholars continue to tease out statistical data anddrive critical holes in the creative class literature, cities throughoutNorth America and now abroad (see Vanolo, 2008; Houston et al.,2008; Stam et al., 2008) continue a zealous implementation ofFlorida-inspired policies, and the creative class has gainedrecognition as a highly influential demographic.1 Given the

1 Incidentally, even Joel Kotkin, an outspoken critic of Florida, recently proclaimedarack Obama’s election victory as a Triumph of the Creative Class (2008).

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J. Long / Cities 26 (2009) 210–219 211

apparent disconnect between academic opinion and popular sup-port, it is evident that extensive empirical scholarship is needed tobetter comprehend the effects of the ‘‘creative city” phenomenon. Thisessay is not the first to appeal for further investigation. Most notably,Rantisi et al., 2006) pointed to several possible areas for future explo-ration, including ‘‘a clear understanding of the term ‘creativity,”’ the‘‘opportunities and challenges” confronting a range of workers in cre-ative cities, and ‘‘prospects for smaller cities or rural settings and forcontexts in the Global South” (1795-6). Adding to these suggestions,other avenues have been explored empirically, most notably theinvestigation of the ‘‘politics of city regionalism and livability” inthe creative city (McCann, 2007, p. 188), and the possible conse-quences of ‘‘downtown-based property-led development” in blue col-lar-turned-creative cities (Zimmerman, 2008, p. 230). Following theexample of Vanolo (2008), Zimmerman (2008), this paper seeks toilluminate the far-reaching effects of creative city developmentthrough empirical analysis. But where these scholars chose to inves-tigate the active promotion of creative strategies in industrial cities(Turin in the case of Vanolo; Milwaukee in the case of Zimmerman),this study critically examines Florida’s model for creative success:Austin, Texas. In doing so, this article considers the recent work of cre-ative class critics, but largely seeks to analyze the situation of Austin inlight of Florida’s own scholarship. While Austin has experienced manyof the recognized ‘‘externalities”2 (i.e. negative side-effects) of crea-tive development, research suggests that there are further socio-cul-tural challenges present. A vocal portion of Austin’s population hasexpressed serious concerns over the loss of cultural character, senseof detachment, and social polarization associated with rapid growthand landscape transformation. This paper suggests that, despite theirassumingly intangible nature, these cultural expressions may lead tovery real consequences for creative cities. Ironically, these problemsseem most evident in the city that is considered the greatest creativesuccess story, Austin. Based upon the case of Austin, this researchquestions whether Floridian strategies for creative development areas sustainable as their popularity implies.

Methods

Throughout 2007 and in the beginning of 2008, research andfieldwork were conducted with the stated purpose of gauging pub-lic response to the recent growth and redevelopment in the Austinarea. Upon entering the field, the intent of this research was toinvestigate the ‘‘Keep Austin Weird” movement, understood bymost as a reactionary slogan in support of local business. However,interviews revealed that local business promotion was only oneincarnation of ‘‘Keep Austin Weird.” It was quickly discovered thatthe slogan has been adopted by numerous groups advocating a vari-ety of causes, but originally, the phrase had emerged from a localgrassroots movement intent on the preservation of Austin’s uniqueculture. This discovery changed both the scope and purpose of re-search. It was clear that research demanded a more flexible meansof ethnographic inquiry than originally intended. Instead of focus-ing on local business owners and members of local business promo-tion groups, interviews included a mix of Austinites and easilyidentifiable cultural experts (i.e. city council members, chamberof commerce representatives, musicians, journalists, city utilityworkers, local celebrities, developers, and local business owners).In addition to the formally scheduled key informant interviews(approximately 30 in total), random interviews were conductedamong Austinites. During research, these were referred to as ‘‘Onthe Street Interviews.” Although well over one hundred informal

2 By externalities, Florida is referring to largely negative (and often unforeseen)social or economic side effects associated with creative city development (Florida,2004a, 2008).

conversations and impromptu interviews were initiated, only be-tween 60 and 70 resulted in open-ended, exploratory interviewsthat were deemed methodologically suitable for consideration.

Despite the flexibility of sampling criteria, almost all intervie-wees exhibited a significant level of awareness of the ‘‘Keep AustinWeird” phenomenon and about the situation of the city of Austinin general. In other words, it seemed that most Austinites werewell aware of the growth and transformation of the city they calledhome, and there was no shortage of opinion. The passionate atti-tudes and well thought-out responses suggested that ‘‘Keep AustinWeird,” local business promotion, downtown revitalization, gentri-fication, and the ‘‘homogenization” of the cultural landscape weretopics of frequent discussion. Certain commonly repeated re-sponses reinforce the importance of structuring forces such asnews media, movies, television shows, books, internet sources,and the blogosphere. Further, specific references to RichardFlorida’s work suggested that many Austinites had become increas-ingly aware of the city’s position at the top of Florida’s CreativityIndex. The majority of interviews were conducted during the sum-mer of 2007 and in January of 2008, but dozens of follow-up emailand phone interviews continued throughout 2007 and 2008.

In addition to open-ended, exploratory interviews, an extensivereview of related material was also conducted. All material relatingto the ‘‘Keep Austin Weird” movement, creative city policy, or ur-ban landscape transformation fell under the scope of this study.This included (but was not limited to) print media, visual media,music, radio talk shows, city census data, maps, city council meet-ing minutes, comprehensive plans, surveys, polls, ordinances,building codes, and everything that Austin City Connection (thecity of Austin website) offered. Simply put, a wide net was castin order to best gauge the attitudes expressed regarding citygrowth and development.

Cultivating creativity: The Florida perspective

Despite its fairly recent emergence, Florida’s work has becomewidely read among scholars in geography and urban studies. Hiscentral thesis focuses on the emergence of the ‘‘creative class,” agroup he argues is made up of more than 38 million Americans orapproximately 30% of the American workforce (2005a:35). He de-fines the core group of the creative class (2004a:8) as the following:

Those workers in science and engineering, architecture anddesign, education, arts, music and entertainment, whose eco-nomic function is to create new ideas, new technology and/ornew creative content. . .these people engage in complex prob-lem solving that involves a great deal of independent judgmentand requires high levels of education or human capital.

In addition to this core, Florida adds certain ‘‘creative profession-als in business and finance, law, health care, and related fields”(2004a:8). Largely attracted by what he calls the 3 Ts of economicdevelopment (Technology, Talent, and Tolerance), this group ismigrating to cities and regions that ‘‘possess all three of these crit-ical factors” (2005a:37). Of these factors, ‘‘tolerance” is the mostambiguous, and in some sense, the most important element in cityimage marketing. Florida defines tolerance as ‘‘openness, inclusive-ness, and diversity to all ethnicities, races, and walks life”(2005a:37), and he includes several sub-factors that are stronglyrelated to tolerance. According to Florida, factors such as ‘‘Bohemi-anness,” ‘‘Gayness,” and ‘‘Coolness” all tie into this important ‘‘T” ofeconomic development. Florida suggests cities that foster toleranceand market themselves as gay-friendly, Bohemian, and ‘‘cool” willsucceed in the competitive Creative Era where talent and capitalare highly mobile and fickle. But these qualities go beyond simplemarketing and talent attraction; these intangibles ‘‘provide the

212 J. Long / Cities 26 (2009) 210–219

habitat that is conducive to creativity in its many varied forms”(Florida, 2004a, p. 281). In order to build a creative community, cit-ies must foster a ‘‘people climate,” an openness to diversity and awillingness to ‘‘invest in the kinds of lifestyle options and ameni-ties people really want” (2004a:283).

Echoing arguments made by geographers over 15 years before,Florida stresses the importance of the ‘‘experience” of a city (Har-vey, 1989; Ley, 1980). In his chapter ‘‘The Experiential Life,” Floridabuilds upon the idea of the ‘‘economy of experience” (Pine and Gil-more, 1999) by stating that the creative class seeks out a moreauthentic, active, everyday life experience that only certain life-styles and city landscapes can offer. According to Florida, this expe-rience must go beyond traditional forms of consumption. The citymust contain an organic, authentic vibe of creativity. Throughouthis works, Florida uses personal anecdotes and narratives to con-vey the vibrancy of culturally diverse, Bohemian cosmopolitanism.Reminiscent of Jane Jacobs (1992) or Walter Benjamin (2002),Florida frequently references the importance of ‘‘street-levelculture”:

The people in my focus groups and interviews say they likestreet-level culture partly because it gives them a chance toexperience the creators along with their creations. The cultureis ‘‘street-level” because it tends to cluster along certain streetslined with a multitude of small venues. These may include cof-fee shops, restaurants and bars, some of which offer perfor-mance or exhibits along with the food and drink; art galleries;bookstores and other stores; small to mid-sized theaters forfilm or live performance or both; and various hybrid spaces—like a bookstore/ tearoom/little theater or gallery/studio/livemusic space—often in storefronts or old buildings convertedfrom other purposes. The scene may spill out onto the side-walks, with dining tables, musicians, vendors, panhandlers, per-formers, and plenty of passersby at all hours of the day andnight (Florida, 2004a, p. 183).

For many readers, this narrative evokes visions of places likeGreenwich Village, Haight-Ashbury, Boston’s North End, or perhapsAustin’s Warehouse District. Florida attempts to convey an intangi-ble sense of contagious creativity that pulses and permeates thecreative city streetscape. Places such as these are ‘‘essential tothe creative process;” places where people become ‘‘aware of thepossibilities of life” (Florida, 2004a, p. 186):

We humans are not godlike; we cannot create out of nothing.Creativity for us is an act of synthesis, and in order to createand synthesize, we need stimuli—bits and pieces to put togetherin new and unfamiliar ways, existing frameworks to decon-struct and transcend.

There is little question why such a wide range of readers aredrawn to Florida’s work. His narrative connects the visceral expe-riences of the flanuer to the typically donnish literature of city pol-itics, urban development, and high technology. At first glance,Florida’s creative class thesis provides a clear thread connectingculture, economics, and urban well-being in a way that appealsto the reader’s common sense. But this is the type of poetic expe-rientialism conveyed by artists, musicians, and writers of place, notcritical academia. Excerpts like those above have served as theinspiration for critics who have ripped Florida for advocating‘‘Potemkin bohemias” designed to welcome the ‘‘esteemed digni-taries of the creative class” (Maliszewski, 2004, p. 77). Florida’sanecdotal evidence and perceived socio-economic bias is shotdown by those who refer to his work as ‘‘cappuccino urban politics,with plenty of froth” (Peck, 2005, p. 760), or as a ‘‘highly readableexercise in yuppie self-indulgence” (Zimmerman, 2008, p. 233). Toa certain extent, there is good reason to support some of thesestatements. Yet, blanket criticisms should be qualified.

Many of Florida’s observations focus on elements of urban lifethat factor heavily in the economic, environmental, and socialwell-being of a city. Throughout his research, Florida uses qualita-tive interviews, focus groups, participant observation, and land-scape analysis to elucidate some of the links between creativityand diversity, between inspiration and urban sense of place. Hisquantitative methods go further, attempting to cement his thesiswith indices like ‘‘Bohemianness,” ‘‘Gayness,” and ‘‘Coolness”—fac-tors that assumingly denote a degree of tolerance and diversity in acity. Arguably, Florida’s analysis has successfully managed to iden-tify locations where innovation thrives, and despite criticisms ofhis ‘‘Creativity Index,” it is difficult to dispute the creative vibrancyof cities like Austin, San Francisco, Seattle, or Boston.

Unfortunately, throughout Florida’s books, articles, and highprofile lectures, he does not stop at observations. After distillingthe intangibles of creativity into factors that can be calculatedand quantified, he then suggests that they can be reproduced. Flor-ida’s creative canon provides strategies that are easily understoodand implemented by mayors, city councils, and planners seeking toattract the highly desired creative class. As some scholars havenoted, his suggestions are relatively inexpensive, modest, and atthe outset, low-risk (Vanolo, 2008; Peck, 2005). Throughout Flor-ida’s books, there persists the notion that with the right formula,the creative city can be constructed, the creative class can be lured,and creativity can be cultivated. At the end of Rise of the CreativeClass, Florida ends with a creative manifesto that urges the readerto build a truly creative society:

This is not something we can leave to the vagaries of chance, tothe decisions of political leaders or even to the most forward-looking public policy. Nor is it a question that the Creative Classcan any longer afford to ignore—unaware of its considerablepower or even its own existence. To purposefully address itwe must harness all our intelligence, our energy and mostimportant our awareness. The task of building a truly creativesociety is not a game of solitaire. This game, we play as a team(2004a:326).

This is a seductive call to action for the reader who has boughtinto the creative class thesis. Florida’s charismatic appeal and med-ia popularity makes this message extremely palpable to city lead-ers who see the creative class attraction as an inexpensive, easilyimplemented, and seemingly benign strategy. The influence ofFlorida’s work cannot be understated. As one study noted:

It is difficult to exaggerate the influence of Richard Florida’snotion of the creative class on urban and regional economicdevelopment strategies across the USA. Many large cities inthe USA now have some form of talent attraction strategy inplace, in some cases involving extensive place marketing aimedat promoting a cosmopolitan and vibrant place to live. . .Thisthinking is percolating across the Atlantic to the UK and beyond,boosted by Florida’s high-profile visits to Europe (Houston et al.,2008, p. 135).

As planners, policy makers, and city councils both in the U.S.and abroad hustle to implement Florida’s creative vision for theircity, there remains an important question. Can any city, throughthe attraction of ‘‘creative talent,” cultivate creativity? A recentempirical case study investigated the impact of creative city imple-mentation in the historically working class city of Milwaukee.Beginning in 2001, Milwaukee embarked on a ‘‘recasting” of itsindustrial, ‘‘brew town” image in an attempt to conform to thestrategies suggested by Richard Florida (Zimmerman, 2008, p.238):

Florida’s visits to Milwaukee inspired municipal actors toenvision an even more explicitly creative city development

J. Long / Cities 26 (2009) 210–219 213

template in a subsequent plan entitled ‘‘live/work/play”. . .Theplan’s primary goal was taken directly from Florida’s syllabusand outlined ways to increase the density of these ‘‘live, work,play” opportunities, and also to physically integrate existingclusters into a continuous stretch of urban territory conceptual-ized as ‘‘the stroll.”

Milwaukee’s pro-gentrification facelift involved attracting high-end retail chains, creating a downtown music district, and desig-nating a ‘‘techzone” cleverly ‘‘publicized with a ‘blue light launch’that invited high-tech companies to hang a blue neon light. . .alongtheir public facades” (239). While the revamping of Milwaukee as acool hotspot for the creatives garnered national media attention asa ‘‘bohemian bargain,” the city’s apparent renaissance masked realproblems. Milwaukee’s regional advantage was heavily contestedby its peer cities that, coincidentally, were in the midst of launch-ing their own creative class initiatives. The predictable ‘‘externali-ties” previously observed in existing creative cities wereexacerbated in working class Milwaukee. Net job loss accelerated(with unemployment highest among minorities) and increased in-come inequality created a spatial divide within the city. The eco-nomic collapse of Milwaukee’s central city neighborhoodsresulted in a ‘‘striking juxtaposition of a downtown saturated withinvestment dollars surrounded by wide arcs of capital flight”(Zimmerman, 2008, p. 240). Overall, the implementation of creativeclass strategies in working class Milwaukee seemed to worsen thesocio-economic divide. According to Zimmerman (2008:241):

The marriage of Florida’s ideas with municipal action in Mil-waukee did support a celebrated resurgence in the compara-tively tiny downtown area, but it did nothing to forestall theeconomic disintegration of the remainder of the city. It there-fore ultimately brought into even sharper relief what wasalready one of the most economically and racially polarized cit-ies in the United States.

The case of Milwaukee serves as a warning for those citiesattempting to implement a creative overlay in order to attractyoung knowledge workers. Further empirical research is neededto see if Milwaukee is either the rule or the exception. Have similarresults been seen in other traditionally working class cities like St.Louis, Cincinnati, and Cleveland (all cities which have imple-mented similar strategies)? If traditionally working class, indus-trial cities mirror the problems of Milwaukee, the result may bea racially and economically polarized urban landscape that will re-quire significant recuperation in the decades to come. Existing cre-ative cities should also take note. Indeed, creative success storiesare not without their own challenges. With cities in the UnitedStates and now abroad seeking to emulate the success of placeslike Austin, San Francisco, Boston, and Seattle, it remains everimportant to question the creative sustainability of these models.Austin represents a unique case for the application of Floridian the-ory. Florida’s multiple works consistently reference Austin as animportant case study, and as a result, many of his findings aremodeled after Austin’s unique situation. With its top ranking onthe most recent ‘‘Creativity Index,” there is arguably no betterplace to test the creative class thesis.

3 Of this time, Kinky Friedman (2004) humourously writes that Austin evolvedfrom a ‘‘sleepy, beautiful little town” to a city ‘‘vilified by the rest of Texas as the long-haired, hippie, pot-smoking, hell-raising Gomorrah of the Western world”.

4 This trend was supported by both interviews and news articles praising theaffordability of Austin housing.

5 In 2008, the unemployment rate in the Austin MSA was 4.2% while the nationaaverage was 5.8%. At the outset of 2009, the difference between the two statistics haswidened. While the Austin MSA unemployment rate has increased to 5.8%, thenational unemployment rate has risen at a much higher rate to 8.5% (Source: TexasWorkforce Commission).

Background: Austin’s creative evolution

As a creative city, Austin has achieved remarkable economicgrowth. The roots of Austin’s high-tech sector go back to the late1960s and 1970s, accompanying the arrival of IBM, Motorola,and Texas Instruments. During this time, the city experienced bothan economic and demographic transformation. Between 1960 and1970 enrollment at the University of Texas nearly doubled, citypopulation increased from 186,000 to 251,000, and a significant

counterculture emerged concomitant with a robust live musicscene. Many long-term residents of Austin nostalgically refer tothis period as the city’s ‘‘Golden Age,” a period when Austin firstgained a reputation as a tolerant, bohemian ‘‘oasis” in the heartof conservative, red-state Texas.3 Mirroring events that were occur-ring in counterculture hubs like San Francisco and Greenwich Vil-lage, Austin became a regional magnet for political activism,alternative social views, and resistance movements.

By the end of the 1970s, Austin’s population had grown toapproximately 350,000, and had gained notoriety as both a high-tech knowledge city and as the musical birthplace of ArmadilloWorld Headquarters, Austin City Limits, and ‘‘Outlaw Country.”In the late 1970s and early 1980s, city leaders continued to recruithigh-tech industry. While other cities in Texas were benefitingfrom an oil boom set off by rising gas prices (Houston), an increasein military spending (San Antonio), and later, a strengtheningfinancial market (Dallas-Fort Worth), Austin leaders found thatthe relatively ‘‘clean” high-tech sector appealed to the city’s vocalenvironmental advocates and local entrepreneurs. Benefiting fromsuch factors as a readily available labor pool (University of Texasgraduates) and attractive recreational amenities, Austin witnessedcontinued prosperity in the following decade. Benefiting from thedotcom boom in the 1990s, Austin saw even greater growth inits high-tech sector, when employment grew by 80% (McCann,2007) and over 300 companies—most of them tech-related—relo-cated to Austin (Redman, 2004). When the dotcom bubble finallyburst in 2000, Austin weathered the ensuing recession far betterthan its fellow technopoles. Several reasons were given for this,including the diversity of the sector, the prevalence of state gov-ernment, and the relatively low cost of housing compared to Sili-con Valley, Seattle, and other ‘‘nerdistans” (Florida, 2004a).Indeed, it may have been the real estate slump that saved Austin.Many in the tech sector relocated to Austin in favor of lower costof living and quality of life.4 Joining local success stories like Dell,tech giants AMD, Cirrus Logic, Samsung, 3M, and numerous othershave established headquarters in Austin. At present, Austin’s high-tech sector continues to be one of its largest fields of employment.

Overall, the city has seen a large increase in creative and cultureindustries. A 2003 report by a city sub-committee noted that over36% of Austin’s employment is linked to creative industries, com-pared to 28.1% of the United States. This percentage of the work-force accounted for a surprising 54.4% of the total local wagespaid, compared to 44.4% of the United States (Austin’s EconomicFuture, 2003). In a related statistic, the professional and relatedsector was Austin’s top employer by occupation at 25%, comparedto 20.5% for the United States (Texas Workforce Commission,2009). In 2007, average annual wages remained higher than therest of the country at $43,330 for the Austin MSA vs. $40,590 forthe United States. Further, unemployment in Austin has consis-tently remained far lower than the national average. In 2008,unemployment was 4.1% for 2008 vs. 5.8% for the United States(Texas Workforce Commission, 2009), and recent reports suggestthat this trend will continue.5 As of April 2008 Austin’s populationexceeded 750,000 and its sprawling MSA population had grown towell over 1.5 million (Robinson, 2008). In the past five years, Austinhas been ranked at the top of such lists as Forbes’ best cities for busi-

l

214 J. Long / Cities 26 (2009) 210–219

ness (#1), Visa International’s most entrepreneurial cities (#1), NewEconomy Index’s high-tech job rankings (#1), Forrester Research’smost wired cities in America (#1) and several other popular lists.

Austin’s economic success is undeniable, and there is littlequestion why Florida and others hail Austin as the model creativecity. Early on, Florida recognized Austin’s potential for success. Inthe hardback edition of Rise of the Creative Class (2002), Austinachieved the #2 spot on Florida’s envied ‘‘Creativity Index,” a sta-tistical compilation of the 3 Ts of economic development. Floridapraised Austin’s forward-looking city governance and privateentrepreneurs for actively pursuing the attraction of high techfirms and creative talent. He spoke in especially high regard of Aus-tin’s third ‘‘T,” tolerance, offering the following personal anecdoteas evidence (2004a: 299):

Austin is indeed an open, tolerant city where many differentpeople can fit in. After a speech in Austin in the spring of2000, a group of business and political leaders invited me to jointhem for ‘‘Hippie Hour” at a local club. Delighted, I replied that Iwas certainly ready for ‘‘Happy Hour.” ‘‘It’s not Happy Hour,”they correct me, ‘‘we said Hippie Hour.” We ended up at theContinental Club, a ramshackle old place on South CongressStreet, hanging out with a crowd of hippies, musicians, Latinos,politicians and high-tech business types—a veritable cauldronof creativity where all could let their hair down and bethemselves.

It is this kind of laid-back attitude of inclusion that Florida con-sidered necessary to attract creative talent. Florida extolled the ci-ty’s plans for continued creative development and its activesupport of cultural diversity:

The city’s leadership and its people continue to try to create aplace that blends the ability to be yourself—whoever that maybe—with being part of a supportive community that is open toand tolerant of difference and equally accommodating to allforms of creativity (2005a, p. 300).

Florida’s rosy portrayal of tolerant, tech-oriented, talented Aus-tin promised readers that even greater things were soon to comefrom the Texas capital. During this same time period, Austin wascontinuing its ‘‘Smart Growth Initiative.” Institutionalized in1997, the Initiative was intended to ‘‘create incentives to encour-age future development in Austin’s traditional urbanized corewhile discouraging it in the surrounding region” (McCann, 2007,p. 191). The policies outlined under the Smart Growth Initiativeechoed many of the strategies later prescribed by Florida, and in-cluded such plans as tax incentives and fast-tracked building pro-grams, ‘‘green” builder programs, downtown redevelopment, infilland redevelopment projects, neighborhood planning initiatives,affordable housing projects, corridor planning, open space preser-vation, and coordinated neighborhood planning (Smart GrowthInitiative, 2008; McCann, 2007). It was during this time period thatAustin experienced remarkable downtown redevelopment. Thegoal of Austin’s downtown redevelopment plan was to ensure awalkable, high-density area that would increase tax base, reducetraffic congestion, and reduce suburban development in environ-mentally sensitive areas (Downtown Redevelopment Report,2008). This included an active push to nearly double the numberof downtown residents and create a residential city that eclipsedanything previously seen in the city’s history. Between 2000 and2005, there were over one thousand condos constructed in thedowntown area (Capitol Market Research, 2008; Mistretta, 2008),and this number has more than quadrupled since. In a recent WallStreet Journal article (December 23, 2008) Maura Sadovi noted Aus-tin’s real estate ‘‘glut.” Approximately 9,000 new rental-apartmentunits were completed in 2008, the third-highest number of the

country’s 54 major metropolitan areas. In addition, just under fivemillion square feet of new office space has been built this year,much of it built without preleasing.

Austin’s ability to attract creative talent and industry from com-peting regions increased throughout the middle part of the decade.By the time the paperback version of Rise of the Creative Class waspublished in 2004, Austin’s position in the creative echelon hadbeen secured with the number one spot on Florida’s ‘‘New Creativ-ity Index Ranking,” beating out cities like San Francisco, Seattle,and Boston (Florida, 2004a, p. xxii). Florida’s accolades paralleledAustin’s move to the top. In his 2005 book, Cities and the CreativeClass, he pointed to the city’s stellar environmental record, com-mitment to recreational and cultural amenities, and entrepreneur-ial atmosphere (80-81). By the time Florida’s next book Flight of theCreative Class was published shortly after in 2005, he had begunusing the term ‘‘Global Austins” to refer to international cities thatshowed the same potential for creative development. The books re-peated showcasing of Austin’s success prompted references to thecity as the ‘‘poster child for the creative class argument” (McCann,2007). In his 2008 international bestseller, Who’s Your City,Florida’s continued auspicious treatment of Austin made it clearthat, at least in his mind, Austin had become the undisputed arche-type of creative development at the outset of the 21st century.

Revisiting externalities in the creative city

Despite Richard Florida’s optimistic portrayal of certain cities inthe ‘‘Creative Era,” it is clear he at least acknowledges the apparentchallenges. He responded to attacks from his critics in an article inNext American City defending his methods, analysis, possible bias,and overall thesis (Florida, 2004b). A portion of this article eventu-ally appeared as a chapter at the end of Cities and the CreativeClass (2005a). Florida concludes this book with a remarkably briefsix-page chapter entitled ‘‘Open Questions.” In this chapter, he ad-dresses criticisms by identifying a short list of potential ‘‘external-ities” that challenge creative cities. While never explicitly definedby Florida, he uses the term ‘‘externalities” to refer to the negativesocio-economic consequences of creative development. It shouldbe mentioned that Florida’s discussion of externalities is remark-ably brief, and he associates these problems with the creativeeconomy as a whole rather than specifically targeting creativestrategies for growth (2005a, pp. 172–176).

Of the externalities discussed, inequality is the most promi-nently featured. It is the principal focus of the chapter, and Floridapoints to gloomy figures that link creative cities with high varia-tions in income. In addition to this key concern, Florida’s additionalexternalities include housing affordability, uneven regional devel-opment, sprawl and ecological decay, mounting stress and anxiety,and political polarization (2005a, p. 172). While meant to stem theoutpouring of criticism, Florida’s cursory discussion of these ‘‘openquestions” seemed to palliate the real challenges shouldered bythose not reaping the benefits of creative prosperity. This wasnot the first instance of whitewashing by Florida. Earlier in thesame book, he finishes a case study lauding Austin’s creative ap-proach with a glossy mentioning of Austin’s lone ‘‘shortcoming:”

If Austin has a shortcoming, it may be that it has grown too fast.Residents have begun to complain that the city suffers fromurban sprawl and has lost some of its character among new sub-urbs. The cost of living has risen dramatically (though still muchlower than in larger cities like New York or San Francisco). Aus-tin has begun to take steps to address these problems by imple-menting more effective land use programs and zoning codes,and by looking at ways to reuse abandoned downtown land. Ithas attempted to bring planning agencies together in a planningsummit, to allow for more seamless sharing of ideas. The city is

6 This nostalgic vision of Austin is not a direct quote or excerpt from a book ornewspaper article. Rather, this paragraph is based upon the many anecdotal musingsof interviewees, local media, and even works of fiction that regularly depict Austin inthis light. While based upon research, this paragraph is an attempt by the author toconvey the romanticized collective memory expressed by many in the ‘‘Old Austin”

J. Long / Cities 26 (2009) 210–219 215

committed to smart growth and sustainable development as akey component of its regional economic development agenda(81).

Much like his broader acknowledgment of urban challenges inthe creative era, Florida recognizes that there is no such thing asa flawless city, but then quickly shifts to a more positive portrayalof Austin’s situation by declaring trust in the city’s innovative andcommitted leadership. In between acquiescence and reassurance,there is a significant lack of information that begs further examina-tion. As the ‘‘poster child” for the creative class argument, Austin’seconomic prosperity is undeniable. But as exemplary as Austin’ssuccess has been, it has not come without challenges. Just as Austinseems to embody all of the promises of creative prosperity, theexternalities are equally visible.

The city’s plan for increased residential density and redevelop-ment in the downtown has created a ripple effect of socio-eco-nomic repercussions. In this area, housing costs have jumpeddramatically in the past decade. In the city as a whole, medianhouse prices rose from $124,700 (2000) to $173,000 (2007), butin the downtown area and surrounding neighborhoods, a rising de-mand for high-rise condos and luxury residences created a boom(US Census, 2007). In these newer residences, prices ranged fromapproximately $200,000 for a studio or one bedroom unit to up-wards of $2 million for the luxury units. The effect on adjacentneighborhoods has been significant. In some traditionally workingclass neighborhoods of Central East Austin, median sale price ofsingle-family homes jumped as much as 125% between 1999 and2006 (NHCD, 2007). The increase in house prices and propertytaxes has weighed heavily on existing residents, and recent demo-graphic trends reveal an ongoing ‘‘Black flight” from traditionallyAfrican American neighborhoods:

The critical mass and historical heavy concentration of AfricanAmerican households in east Austin began eroding during the1980s, and by the mid-1990s, had really begun to break apart.Over the past 25 years, middle-class African American house-holds have left east Austin for the suburbs and other parts ofAustin (Robinson, 2008, p. 3).

While African American neighborhoods are breaking apart andtheir residents are heading to the suburbs, the same report re-vealed that much of Austin’s Hispanic population is clustering in‘‘intensifying urban barrios” (Robinson, 2008, p. 3). The transfor-mation of Austin neighborhoods is not limited to ethnic and work-ing class neighborhoods. During the last decade establishedwealthier neighborhoods were seeing marked increase in housingprices. Neighborhoods like Old West Austin, Clarksville, and HydePark—traditionally viewed as either established middle class orupper middle class areas—witnessed increased property taxes, ris-ing house prices, and a significant influx of new, affluent residents(Long, 2008).

Many of these challenges have been experienced by other crea-tive cities, and in some cases led indirectly to the Austin’s boom.Indeed, many of Austin’s new creative residents originally mi-grated to the city to escape rising cost of living in the Silicon Valley,San Francisco, and Los Angeles. Ironically, when referring to Aus-tin’s success in Rise of the Creative Class, Florida wrote that a ‘‘keyaspect of the region’s development strategy is to preserve its un-ique cultural assets and diversity and to avoid being overwhelmedby the problems that Silicon Valley has encountered. . .” (2004a, p.299). Less than five years after it was written, this statement readsas an ominous commentary on creative development.

A recent report from the City of Austin Demographics office of-fered a top ten list of demographic trends in Austin. In addition tothe aforementioned spatial transition of Austin’s ethnic population,the report also mentioned a marked ‘‘decrease in families-with-

children share in the urban core,” ongoing ‘‘intensifying urbansprawl,” an ‘‘increasingly sharp edge of affluence” and ‘‘politicalspatial dichotomy”:

Maps of Median Family Income from Census 2000 show anincreasingly hard edge between affluent central Texas andless-than-affluent parts of the urban region. . .Austin is becom-ing a more divided city, divided not just in terms of incomebut also in terms of cultural attributes, linguistic characteristicsand political persuasions (2008: pp. 3–4).

Indeed, as the model creative city, Austin has experienced allthe promises and pitfalls of development in the creative era. Schol-ars studying Austin and other creative cities have mirrored theconcerns of creative class critics, verifying the tangible impacts ofthis mode of development. Few, however, have chosen to focuson the more elusive qualities of urban cultural character and senseof place. Responding to Florida’s suggestion that the creative classis largely attracted to ‘‘cool” cities, the exploration of themes suchas ‘‘place attractiveness” (Houston et al., 2008), ‘‘urban branding”(Vanolo, 2008), and ‘‘cultural consumption” (Pratt, 2008) havebeen prominent among critics. But these studies reference a man-ufactured or boosterized image of the urban imaginary, and focuslittle on the feelings of attachment and sense of place expressedby residents of the creative city. This paper suggests that urbansense of place and cultural character play an important role inthe maintenance of creativity. In addition to the acknowledgedexternalities of creative development, these factors are equallyimportant to sustainable development in the creative city.

Sustaining creativity in the creative city

A little more than two decades ago, Austin was a minor playercompared to creative peers like Seattle, New York, and SanFrancisco. The downtown was still a spacious patchwork of officetowers, historic buildings, empty lots, and parks. You could stillsee the picturesque outline of the capitol building from multiplevantage points in the city. Unemployment was low and housingprices were very affordable. Neighborhoods were free of gaudy‘‘McMansions,” and maintained a small town sense of community.There was a vibe to Austin that was unlike anywhere else inTexas—a sense of tolerance and nonconformity that celebratedweirdness and welcomed diversity. Competing bands played in adja-cent clubs, fighting for ‘‘earspace” in the downtown. There were nonoise ordinances to restrict outdoor bands and Barton Springs re-mained open year round. Occasionally, outdoor concerts and im-promptu drum circles would spontaneously begin in sunny parks.6

At least, this is how many long-term residents of Austin like toportray their city before it ‘‘lost its soul.” Rapid growth, downtownrevitalization, gentrification, and a dramatic rise in housing costshave radically changed the cultural landscape of Austin, and manysee the changes as invasive, threatening, and overly commercial-ized. As mentioned in the previous methods section, the central fo-cus of this study was to investigate the genesis of the ‘‘Keep AustinWeird” movement, a grassroots form of cultural resistance turnedlocal business promotion, and later, unofficial civic motto. Hun-dreds of open-ended interviews were conducted, and while variousresponses were given, there emerged a clear pattern among inter-viewees. Respondents repeatedly voiced concern over the loss ofthe city’s cultural character and a sense of detachment to the

crowd.

216 J. Long / Cities 26 (2009) 210–219

changing cultural landscapes of Austin. Interviewees employedseveral terms to describe these feelings. They spoke of the city’s‘‘soul,” the loss of ‘‘weirdness,” the commercialization of the Austin‘‘vibe,” and the ‘‘homogenization” of the city landscape.

The recent commercialization and development has been per-ceived by many vocal Austinites as ‘‘homogenizing” and ‘‘invasive”(Long, 2008). Public resistance has materialized in multiple move-ments, many of which frequently implore the ‘‘Keep Austin Weird”slogan as a rallying cry. This resistance has been mobilized aroundenvironmental protection, historic preservation, and neighborhoodprotection. Perhaps most notably, the preservation of iconic andauthentic landscapes has made frequent headlines in Austin. Ashigh-rise luxury residences and office buildings increasingly dom-inate the skyline and corporate retail chains expand to the city,Austinites have grown increasingly protective of vulnerable natu-ral landscapes and iconic local businesses. These movements havehad mixed results (Long, 2008). The downtown is now a shiningmonument to revitalization and the city streets are packed withthe clamor of pedestrians, but whether this new, manufactured vi-brancy serves as a positive substitute for the old character of thecity is still questioned. Frequently, interviewees stated that thedowntown no longer looked like Austin, but more like New York,Dallas, or Chicago. While these cities are known for their dynamiccity landscapes, many Austinites feel that this density is beingimplemented too quickly and forcefully. In an attempt to avoidthe look of generic downtown landscapes, some developers areadopting innovative architectural layouts and ‘‘quirky” designs,but even this is often met with opposition. Worrisome to manyis the spread of ‘‘fake” or ‘‘slick” weird, terms often applied tonew developments perceived as ‘‘posing” to blend in with Austin’sweird landscapes. The demand for ‘‘real” Austin has led to an as-sumed hierarchy of authenticity among bars, restaurants, radiostations, bookstores, music venues, and festivals. It is common tohear local radio advertising businesses as ‘‘Austin originals,” ‘‘trulyAustin,” ‘‘a piece of ‘Old’ Austin,” ‘‘uniquely Austin” or ‘‘Austinicons.” Ironically, even the authenticity of the slogan ‘‘Keep AustinWeird” has been compromised. Conceived by Austin librarian RedWassenich, in 2000, the slogan was originally an expression of hisattachment to the city he saw changing. In his words, it was an at-tempt to ‘‘counter Austin’s descent into rampant commercialismand over-development” (KAW, 2008). Wassenich printed out athousand bumper stickers and started handing them out to friends.Soon the slogan was being adopted for local business promotion,neighborhood preservation, and environmental protection. Wassenichhad idealistically refused to copyright the slogan, and it was notlong before a local design company (Absolutely Austin) claimedthe rights. As Wassenich stated in an interview, he had hopedthe slogan would remain free from commercialization:

I didn’t trademark the slogan for a reason. I wanted everybodyto use it. I didn’t mind them making t-shirts and mugs and mak-ing money, but it wasn’t supposed to be held by one group. Andthey tried to explain themselves. They said ‘‘If we don’t get it,somebody else will.” I said ‘‘no, you guys don’t get it” (Interviewwith the author, 10 July 2007).

Wassenich decided not to pay the fees to fight the legal battle,and as of the writing of this paper, Absolutely Austin still maintainsthe rights to the slogan. It has become a major income generatorfor the company, and it is hard to go anywhere in Austin withoutseeing the slogan printed on a bumper sticker, t-shirt, baseballcap, or shot glass. The irony is not missed on Austinites who knowthe full story. The slogan, intended to protest Austin’s culturalhomogenization and commercialization, is perhaps now the ulti-mate symbol of cultural commodification. In a city that celebratesdifference, tolerance, and cultural expression, ‘‘weirdness” is an

important symbol of the city’s non-conformist attitude. As formercity council member, Betty Dunkerley stated in an interview:‘‘weirdness is one of the greatest assets of the city” (Interview withthe author, 27 July 2007). As cultural consumption becomes anincreasingly apparent feature of the Austin landscape, even weird-ness is becoming commercialized. Comments like the followingwere frequent among interviewees:

I don’t think [Austin] is that weird anymore. . . It is getting com-mercialized. More and more people are capitalizing on the Aus-tin mystique (Interview with the author, 17 July 2007).

Austin was very unmaterialistic in its Golden Age. And that’schanged. The money and growth, and the mentality that goesalong with it kills weirdness. . .Now, I wonder how people doit. I see all these kids in bands, and I know they are in bandsbecause I talk to them. They work at the sandwich place orthe businesses I go to, and I wonder how they make it in Austinnow. Maybe they live eight to an apartment. I don’t know(interview with the author, 10 July 2007).

Austin is still crazy weird, but it is becoming more Shiny Weird.Fake Weird, or Slick Weird. ‘‘Weird” [signals quotation marks].Everybody is expected to be weird so they’re just trying to beweird too. When everybody is trying too hard they start lookingthe same (Interview with the author, 23 July 2007).

Look at those buildings. From here you can see new lofts andapartments and Smart Growth shit just appearing all over theplace. Do you think those bars are going to survive the newdevelopment schemes? Not if they rent and they are in primereal estate spots. There’s a few that’ll make it. But the peopleof this city can’t protect every bar, every music venue even ifthey stand out in the streets protesting their balls off. . .butthe city’s gonna grow, you know? You can’t stop money (Inter-view with the author, 14 July 2007).

Well, [‘‘Keep Austin Weird”] has been extremely compromised.The logo will stick around, but the idea behind it will not be ableto remain. I think that the commercialization of the idea hasalready changed ‘‘Keep Austin Weird” (Interview with theauthor, 24 January 2008).

As the above comments suggest, there is a deep concern thatAustin’s culture, landscape, and creativity have become ‘‘commer-cialized” or ‘‘homogenized.” These terms show up quite frequentlyin blogs, radio shows, newspaper headlines, and in everyday con-versation. Consider the following excerpt. Responding to the po-tential sale of a local landmark, Austin American Statesmancolumnist John Kelso leads with the headline, ‘‘Austin’s weirdnessis compromised now that the city’s been monetized”:

The word ‘‘monetize” was a new one on me. See, I don’t getinvited to a lot of board meetings. So I looked it up, and whatit means in a nutshell is turning stuff into money. If that doesn’ttell you the story of how Austin has changed in the past fiveyears, I don’t know what does. Boy are we ever monetizedaround these parts. The entirety of the downtown has beenmonetized into expensive condos with monetized mottos.You’ve got the Austonian with ‘‘A Higher Level of Living” andthe 360 Condominiums with ‘‘Life Surrounds You.” And so dothe Californians. . .But there’s your new Austin for you. We needa new motto. How ‘bout, ‘‘We’re Too Busy Monetizing to beWeird.” (Austin American Statesman, 28 October 2008).

The above excerpt is reminiscent of conversations conductedwith several interviewees. There is an increasing divide betweenpro-development Austin and anti-growth Austin, and depictions

J. Long / Cities 26 (2009) 210–219 217

of each side are replete with stereotypes. On one side, affluent,materialistic ‘‘New Austin” (often stigmatized as comprised of re-cently arrived Californians from Los Angeles and Silicon Valley),is demonized as the engine of irresponsible growth and homogeni-zation. On the other side, nostalgic, hippie ‘‘Old Austin” is por-trayed as a group of curmudgeonly bulwarks to development. Inthe local media, ‘‘Old Austin” frequently receives preferential treat-ment, and in interviews, even recent arrivals regularly claimed sol-idarity with the ‘‘Old Austin” or ‘‘Keep Austin Weird” mentality.One interviewee denounced this as just another form of ‘‘posing”weird:

I wish that ‘Keep Austin Weird’ was kept a secret from ‘newcomers’ for a while so they could just form their own opinionsof how they should try to meld. . .might make for a more uniqueAustin (Interview with the author, 23 July 2007).

Ultimately, very few interviewees detracted from the ‘‘Old Aus-tin” or ‘‘Keep Austin Weird” mentality. These respondents feltstrongly that the strength of Austin’s creativity was far more clo-sely related its entrepreneurial spirit than its ‘‘weirdness.” Oneinterviewee—incidentally, the creator of the ‘‘Make Austin Normal”website and product line—was quick to point out the importance ofAustin’s uniqueness, and not its anti-corporate weirdness:

I don’t really want to say Austin is weird. I think I would callAustin very unique. And there are things about Austin Iwouldn’t want to change. I like the extreme diversity that theUniversity brings in. I like the diversity of ideas. I like many ofthe recreational aspects of Austin. I go to Alamo Draft House,Zilker Park. I’m a UT grad. I enjoy all the features of living inAustin. Does that make me weird? I like all that stuff. I just thinkit can peacefully coexist. I don’t think that a new Wal-Mart willput a unique store out of business if they are good at what theydo. It might put a bad store out of business. But that’s not nec-essarily a bad thing. People in Austin think it is (Interview withthe author, 18 July 2007).

Opinions like these were rare, but still present in interviews andday-to-day conversations with Austinites. It is clear that while thelarge majority of interviewees sympathized with the ‘‘Keep AustinWeird” mentality, there was a growing rift between pro-develop-ment and anti-growth advocates. Research revealed that this socialpolarization certainly existed, but one can only speculate as towhether this conflict should be added to the list of ‘‘externalities”in the creative city. What is clear is that many Austinites feel thatthey are caught in the midst of an identity crisis that plays thepromises of economic development against a perceived loss of cul-tural heritage. As one ‘‘Old Austin” advocate Zack Replica famouslynoted, ‘‘Austin has to choose between odd and Mammon” (KAW,2008).

7 This sentence may bring to mind images of David Brooks’ (2000) ‘‘Bobo”consumers. Referring to the ‘‘Bohemian Bourgeois,” Brooks’ Bobos are a highlymeritocratic upper class born of 1960s tolerance and recent economic prosperity. Intheir patterns of identity-based consumption, the Bobos and the creative class aresometimes reminiscent of one another. I hesitate to equate these two groups herehowever. Further research may determine whether or not Brooks’ ‘‘Bobo” ideas can beeasily applied to changes in the Austin cultural landscape.

Discussion: From creativity to consumption

If Florida is correct, and the creative class requires an authentic,organic environment to stimulate the creative process, then thehomogenization and mainstreaming of unique cultural characteris a significant threat. ‘‘Generica has a way of creeping in every-where,” he warns (Florida, 2004a, p. 187), and he is certainly notalone in arguing the importance of the creative urban context.There is a complex process of creative production, and it relieson the city environment:

...The city is a ‘‘high-touch” environment whereby ill-definedand fuzzy knowledges are exchanged—it is a varied informa-tional field within which actors negotiate and filter, and pro-duce, knowledge in a very uncertain wider environmentUnlike other areas of the economy, some aspects of cultural pro-

duction (and consumption) can be codified and normalized, butmany cannot; arguably, these are the most valuable ideas tothis industry (Pratt, 2008, p. 115).

Scholars have written extensively about the links between cre-ativity and the organic, authentic vibrancy of the urban landscape(Soja, 1996; Lefebvre, 1991 and 1996; Jacobs, 1992; De Certeau,1984; and others). None of these authors, however, suggest thatcreativity can be manufactured or reproduced by city governance.Indeed, this idea makes for poor policymaking. The unique culturalcontext of each city creates interactions that ‘‘embed cultural pro-duction” (Pratt, 2008, p. 115), and there is good reason to believethat as the urban cultural landscape is homogenized and commod-ified, its context for the production of creativity will be compro-mised. As Florida himself states, ‘‘the commercialization ofexperience can empty it of its original creative content” (2004a,p. 187). Yet, Florida seems to ignore the fact that the strategies ofcreative city making have enormous potential to do just this. An at-tempt to manufacture creativity has serious limitations. Jane Ja-cobs—of whom Florida regards as one of his greatestinspirations—said something very reminiscent of this in The Deathand Life of Great American Cities:

When we deal with cities we are dealing with life at its mostcomplex and intense. Because this is so, there is a basic estheticlimitation on what can be done with cities: A city cannot be awork of art. . .To approach a city, even a city neighborhood, asit fit were a larger architectural problem, capable of being givenorder by converting it into a disciplined work of art, is to makethe mistake of attempting to substitute art for life. The results ofsuch profound confusion between art and life are neither lifenor art. They are taxidermy (1961, pp. 372–373).

In Austin, certain landscapes are beginning to look more like‘‘taxidermy” than those that originally added to the creative cul-tural landscape of the city. The trendy retail chains of creative classconsumption (REI, World Market, Pottery Barn, Barnes and Noble,etc.) are threatening local businesses, who, as a recent Austin Amer-ican Statesman (October 22, 2008) article noted, are performingpoorly in light of the recent financial crisis.7 In addition to theincreasing number of trendy stores, Austin is also seeing a new de-mand for high-end luxury retail. A recent Wall Street Journal article(September 4, 2007) declared 2007 ‘‘the year high-end retail discov-ered Austin.” Outlets like Louis Vuitton, Tiffany’s, Burberry signal thearrival of affluent consumers to the city, and high-end mixed usedevelopment sites are creating the sort of ‘‘Disneyland facsimile”(Florida, 2004a pp. 187–188) that overshadow or displace the char-acter of Austin’s cultural landscape with lines like ‘‘Keep Austin Fab-ulous.” Further, rampant construction in the downtown area isthreatening the environmental health of vulnerable natural land-scapes and amenities like Lady Bird Lake (formerly Town Lake) andBarton Springs.

A definite pattern has emerged in Austin in the last decade. Thetransformation of the downtown and adjacent neighborhoods hasresulted in an expanding ‘‘bubble of livability:” a high-cost, high-quality of life district revamped to attract a specific group of citi-zens. The once accessible creative landscapes of Austin’s iconicdowntown have been incrementally substituted for landscapes ofcultural and experiential consumption accessible to the preferredcore of the creative class. Within this zone, the surviving local land-

,

218 J. Long / Cities 26 (2009) 210–219

scapes remain as sites for the consumption of authenticity—pock-ets of weird ‘‘Old Austin” that essentially turn patrons into touristswithin their own city. The question on the minds of many Austi-nites remains: if Austin continues to lose its iconic and authenticlandscapes to a consumer based ‘‘generica,” will it potentially loosethe organic vibrancy that fostered creativity in the first place?

Conclusion

The goal of this research is to evaluate the effect of creative citystrategies in Austin, Texas, in light of Richard Florida’s creativeclass thesis. Research suggested that Florida’s general observationsof Austin’s economic success were accurate. Further, Florida’s argu-ments regarding the importance of a diverse, tolerant context andauthentic urban vibrancy for the stimulation of creativity areworthwhile. However, Florida’s cursory treatment of ‘‘externali-ties” in the creative city masks the serious challenges that accom-pany creative strategies for growth. The softening of these issues,as well as the whitewashing of further socio-cultural challenges(e.g. commercialization, sense of detachment, loss of urban culturalcharacter), is a serious threat to sustainable urban development. Aspolicymakers and city planners attempt to mimic the successes ofFlorida’s creative success stories, they must be made aware of thepotential challenges. Instead, Florida’s call to action palliates theproblems with creative cities and suggests a zealous implementa-tion of creative strategies. In cities newly attempting the Floridiancreative makeover, this may prove a risky experiment. As the caseof Milwaukee demonstrates, the attempt to cultivate creativity in atraditionally Fordist, working class city can greatly exacerbate theexisting socio-economic divide. Even in the model creative city,Austin, the challenges of creative development are evident.Inequality, housing costs, gentrification, uneven regional develop-ment, sprawl and ecological decay, mounting stress and anxiety,and political polarization are all present and potentially threatenthe sustainability of creativity.

Even if these ‘‘externalities” represent merely the growing painsof a burgeoning creative Mecca, there remains the question of cre-ativity itself. Throughout his work, Richard Florida reiterates theimportance of an authentic cultural context for the cultivation ofcreativity. The creative class requires stimuli, social production,interaction, and the vibrancy that certain cities possess. This papersuggests that Austin’s rapid growth and continued implementationof creative development strategies has resulted in a decline of theoriginal, authentic creative context. Development oriented towarda specific class of workers (Florida’s creative class) has resulted inthe displacement of Austin’s organic, authentic cultural landscapesin favor of manufactured landscapes of cultural and experientialconsumption. If the concerns of interviewees are correct, then Aus-tin is at an important creative crossroads. Whether or not Austinwill maintain its celebrated vibe of non-conformity and tolerancewill rely heavily on the degree of civic participation and public ac-tion. As many interviewees noted, it is the people that make Austinweird, and Austin’s well-involved citizenry hold the potential to re-sist further changes to Austin’s urban character and maintain thecity’s creative cultural landscape. This research revealed that evenin the model creative city, sustaining creativity is a weighty exer-cise that brings a mixed bag of economic benefits and socio-cul-tural challenges.

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