Notes on Reading Happy City by Charles Montgomery
[Chapter 1]
Introduction: Rethinking Happiness and Urban Life
The opening premise of Happy City challenges the widespread myth that individual happiness is purely the result of inner work, suggesting that a person’s environment is just as significant. This is key to the author's message: our surroundings shape our well-being to such an extent that our personal harmony depends on our harmony with those surroundings. In other words, urban design can have a profound impact on our happiness and mental health.
The idea of personal responsibility for one’s problems is questioned here, and the book proposes a shift in thinking: rather than placing the onus solely on individuals to “cure” themselves, we should consider how urban environments can be optimized for human well-being. This sets the stage for the rest of the book, where cities and urban spaces are presented as crucial contributors to happiness.
The Mayor of Happy: Enrique Peñalosa’s Vision
Enrique Peñalosa, the former mayor of Bogotá, Colombia, becomes the central figure in the story of the Happy City. His unconventional leadership is highlighted in the context of his campaign for mayor in Bogotá. Peñalosa’s refusal to use an armored SUV—opting instead for a mountain bike as his mode of transport—symbolizes a new approach to urban life. His actions are symbolic of the larger shift he advocates: a city where people and public spaces are prioritized over cars and privatized resources.
Peñalosa’s message, particularly in the wake of Bogotá’s violent past and poor quality of life, was one of hope. He sought to inspire citizens to believe that urban spaces could become places of joy and fulfillment, not just functional spaces. His call to action resonated with a world facing rapid urbanization, environmental degradation, and social inequality.
By 2030, the global urban population will reach nearly 5 billion, and Peñalosa’s belief that cities are both a major challenge and a tremendous opportunity is at the heart of his vision. His work suggests that the world’s rapidly growing cities could avoid the mistakes made by wealthier cities, which have largely been shaped by car-centric planning, sprawl, and privatization.
Transformative Urbanism: A New Way of Designing Cities
Peñalosa argues that the city should be a mechanism for happiness—emphasizing beauty, interaction with nature, and the importance of public spaces. His concept of transformative urbanism involves rethinking what cities are for, especially as they face the consequences of climate change and rapid population growth. At the heart of this transformation is the notion that public spaces—parks, sidewalks, bike paths, and public transport—can foster social well-being and joy.
One of Peñalosa’s most radical actions as mayor was to declare war on private cars. He replaced plans to expand highways with investments in public infrastructure, such as bike lanes, schools, and public libraries. This marked a dramatic shift away from car-centric planning that had dominated much of the world’s urban development for decades.
The Dia Sin Carro (Day of No Cars) experiment was one of his crowning achievements. On February 24, 2000, Bogotá banned private cars from the streets, a bold move that led to a striking reduction in traffic fatalities, hospital admissions, and air pollution. This event demonstrated the direct link between a city’s design and the well-being of its inhabitants. Notably, the experiment was so successful that it became a yearly event and led to a permanent shift in policy—during rush hours, private cars were banned from key areas.
Global Impact: Spreading the Happy City Movement
Peñalosa’s ideas began to spread far beyond Bogotá. Cities from around the world, including those in the U.S. and Europe, took note of his success and invited him to share his vision. His impact was particularly notable in the context of global urbanization, as urban design is often linked to broader issues like climate change, economic inequality, and mental health. For example, his 2006 suggestion to ban vehicles entirely from Broadway in New York City seemed far-fetched at first, but it became a reality just a few years later with the pedestrianization of Times Square.
This global movement of urban designers, activists, architects, and policymakers began experimenting with rethinking urban spaces. From converting shopping mall parking lots into community spaces to reconfiguring neighborhoods to better suit children, Peñalosa’s ideas about public spaces and the rejection of car-dominated urban designs began taking root.
The Happiness Paradox: Material Wealth vs. Emotional Well-being
The chapter delves into what the author terms the “Happiness Paradox.” Despite unprecedented economic growth and material prosperity in many developed countries over the past few decades, levels of happiness have remained relatively stagnant, or even declined. In the United States, surveys show that happiness did not increase alongside rising wealth, and clinical depression became more widespread in the later decades of the 20th century.
This paradox is central to the book’s critique of the prevailing urban model, which ties happiness and success to material accumulation. The rise of suburban sprawl in North America, which was thought to be the key to a better life, may have contributed to the erosion of community, social ties, and quality of life. Instead of leading to greater happiness, the suburban boom has been linked to environmental degradation, social isolation, and a sense of personal dissatisfaction.
Peñalosa’s argument challenges the assumption that more material wealth automatically equates to happiness. He suggests that the true value of urban design lies in how it shapes the social fabric and emotional well-being of its inhabitants. A city designed for happiness, he argues, should prioritize human connection, beauty, and access to nature over the pursuit of material wealth.
The Future of Cities: Rethinking Urban Growth
While Peñalosa’s ideas offer a hopeful vision, there are complexities that need further exploration. The challenge of measuring happiness in relation to urban design is a significant one. How do we quantify the psychological effects of urban spaces—such as the joy of walking in a park or the frustration of being stuck in traffic? These intangible benefits are difficult to assess, but they may hold the key to understanding the true value of city planning.
The chapter ends by pointing out that urban sprawl has led to the erosion of community and environmental degradation, and suggests that the search for a “happy city” may hold the potential for more sustainable, resilient, and fulfilling urban futures. It’s unclear whether a return to the city centers, rather than sprawling suburbs, will solve these issues. However, Peñalosa’s vision provides a compelling argument for cities to move away from car-centric, growth-at-all-costs models and toward ones that promote well-being, sustainability, and equity.
A Call for Rethinking Urban Design and Happiness
Happy City offers an inspiring and hopeful vision for the future of urban spaces. It challenges long-held beliefs about what makes a city “successful” and proposes a new paradigm where happiness, well-being, and community are central. Peñalosa’s bold actions in Bogotá show that it is possible to rethink urban design to prioritize people over cars, public spaces over private ownership, and happiness over material wealth.
However, the book also raises important questions about how we measure happiness and how we can make these changes on a global scale. The “Happiness Paradox” remains a significant challenge, and Peñalosa’s vision offers a way forward, but whether it can be fully realized remains uncertain. What is clear is that the future of cities is deeply tied to the way we design them—and urban planning can and should be a tool for creating happier, more connected, and more resilient communities.
[Chapter 2]
What is happiness? How do we define it?
Happiness can mean different things to different people: Is it contentment, or is it the absence of misery? A monk, a banker, or an architect may each have different interpretations. These definitions shape the world around us, influencing the design and layout of the spaces we inhabit.
Translating Happiness into Form
We all translate our ideas of happiness into physical form. This can be seen in how we landscape our lawns, the neighborhoods we choose to live in, and the types of buildings we create.
Happiness in the Middle Ages: Architecture as a Reflection of Beliefs
In the Middle Ages, happiness (if it could be called that) was embodied in two key architectural forms: city walls and cathedrals.
City Walls: Cities couldn’t survive without walls, which provided physical security and boundaries.
Cathedrals: Equally essential were cathedrals, which made a unique promise regarding happiness—a promise that transcended earthly existence.
Christian communities in former Roman territories placed sacred architecture at the center of urban life.
Christian architecture embodied the story of fate, particularly the suffering of Christ.
The cathedral’s footprint, often shaped like a cross, alluded specifically to Christ’s suffering. Inside, soaring vaulted ceilings and high walls created an experience of transcendence. Visitors would experience a personal connection to the divine, offering a glimpse of the afterlife, where happiness was promised.
The Cathedral as a Symbol of Empathy
The medieval church not only symbolized a promise of happiness in the afterlife, but it was also the anchor of the city—public, communal, and central. Often surrounded by open spaces, these churches delineated the shift from the secular to the sacred. At the heart of the city, the church became a transition zone between earth and heaven, embodying the promise of empathy for human suffering.
Happiness in the Age of Enlightenment:
Jeremy Bentham, an influential figure during the Enlightenment, proposed the Principle of Utility: actions should aim to maximize pleasure and minimize pain. He developed a method known as felicific calculus to quantify happiness, measuring the pleasure or pain resulting from different actions.
However, Bentham found it difficult to measure the full scope of human feelings—such as the enjoyment from a good meal or the joy of an act of kindness—because these are complex and subjective experiences that don't neatly fit into a numerical system. He was challenged by the intricacies of quantifying happiness.
What is Happiness, Really?
Fast forward to modern times, and a network of psychologists, neuroscientists, and economists has tried to solve the mystery of happiness. This is a subject that intrigued the ancient Greeks, baffled Enlightenment scholars, and continues to shape those who design cities today.
A Science of Happiness:
In the early 1990s, Richard Davidson, a psychologist at the University of Wisconsin, embarked on a groundbreaking attempt to understand the sources of positive and negative feelings in the brain.
He discovered that damage to the left prefrontal cortex of the brain—responsible for positive emotions—can lead to a sudden loss of enjoyment in life.
Using EEG (Electroencephalogram) technology to measure electrical activity in the brains of volunteers, Davidson showed that positive emotions (e.g., happiness from smiling babies) activated the left prefrontal region, while negative emotions (e.g., disgust from images of deformed infants) activated the right prefrontal region. This suggested that the brain could offer a map of feelings.
In another study, Davidson used fMRI (Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging) to track blood flow in the brain. Those who reported being happy had more blood flow to the left prefrontal region compared to the right.
Other studies, where participants recorded their moods and gave blood samples, revealed that those with the worst moods had higher levels of cortisol, the hormone linked to stress and anxiety.
These experiments led to an important insight: to understand how happy people are, just ask them. Most people who claim to be happy are indeed telling the truth, and their self-reports align with the physiological data.
Happiness and Economics:
These revelations challenge the classic economic assumption that purchasing decisions are the ultimate indicators of happiness. Instead, economists and psychologists now rely on surveys to measure what large numbers of people are feeling, bringing us closer to understanding what makes people feel good or bad—an idea that Bentham once dreamed of.
Daniel Kahneman, the only economist to win a Nobel Prize in economics, took a different approach. Rather than modeling human satisfaction with simplified equations, Kahneman and his colleagues turned to hedonic psychology, conducting experiments to understand what made life pleasant or unpleasant for real people in the real world.
One of their studies examined urban life by asking 900 women in Texas to break their day into episodes and rate their experiences. The happiest moments were associated with activities like sex and social interaction, while the least pleasant involved commuting to work.
A hedonic approach to urban happiness would focus on improving these urban experiences—boosting the "good stuff" (social interactions, leisure) and reducing the "bad stuff" (stressful commutes, noise, etc.).
Environmental Psychology and Design:
Researchers in Environmental Psychology have identified many factors that influence our mood. We dislike things like snakes, spiders, sharp edges, and loud, unpredictable noises, while we enjoy novelty, soft edges, pleasant scents, and gentle surprises.
Disneyland is a prime example of how design can leverage these principles to enhance happiness. Its architectural details, scenic views, transport experiences, and even the scent in the air are all carefully crafted to tip the “hedonic scale” toward pleasure, contributing to its reputation as the "Happiest Place on Earth."
Authenticity and the Experience Machine:
But does being happy necessarily mean experiencing pleasure? Philosopher Robert Nozick once asked us to imagine an Experience Machine—a device that could simulate a perfect life of pleasure, devoid of real challenges or achievements. Nozick argued that most people would reject the machine in favor of a life with authentic experiences, real struggles, and meaningful accomplishments.
This raises a profound question for urban design: If creating pleasurable, sensory experiences can make people happy, does that approach risk sacrificing authenticity? Is there a deeper kind of happiness—one that involves meaningful interactions and real-life challenges—that cannot be manufactured by design?