Cover The lift core at New Bahru is an interesting aspect of the design project
The lift core at New Bahru is an interesting aspect of the design project
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For Wee Teng Wen, managing partner of The Lo & Behold Group, the most meaningful places are shaped not only by design, but by the memories, rituals and communities they cultivate over time
Hospitality has traditionally been understood in terms of service. Increasingly, however, it has become a question of how places shape experience, not only through architecture and interiors but through the habits, encounters and memories they make possible. Buildings may provide the setting, yet it is repeated occupation that gives them cultural significance. A place earns its identity not on opening day, and not by its superficial merits but by what it adds to the greater landscape it occupies over time.
This understanding underpins the work of Wee Teng Wen, managing partner of The Lo & Behold Group. Over the past two decades, the Singapore-based hospitality company has developed restaurants, hotels and civic destinations that extend beyond commercial success, asking instead how thoughtfully designed environments might encourage people to gather, linger and return. Projects such as New Bahru suggest that adaptive reuse is only the first chapter; the more difficult task is cultivating a place that continues to contribute to its community once the novelty has faded.
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Above Wee Teng Wen, managing partner of The Lo & Behold Group
Wee Teng Wen, managing partner of The Lo & Behold Group
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Wee is notably sceptical of authenticity as a design ideal. This notion, he argues, is far less compelling than intention. Clearly wary of buzzwords of any kind, the irony is that the terminology he critiques is that which might actually describe him well; to refrain from the initial word, let’s use the word genuine instead.
In a world increasingly characterised by convenience, optimisation and visual sameness, he believes meaningful places emerge not from the pursuit of the new. Rather, they come from the clarity of the ideas that shape them and the richness of the experiences they foster. Design, in this view, succeeds not by prescribing every outcome, but by creating the conditions in which unexpected forms of social life can emerge.
In this conversation with Tatler, Wee considers why memorable places engage more than the eye, what gives institutions lasting cultural value and why the most enduring measure of design lies not in immediate admiration but in the attachments that deepen with time.
Above Transforming a 1960s textile factory into a creative hub, the Factory Block is the final phase of New Bahru
Transforming a 1960s textile factory into a creative hub, the Factory Block is the final phase of New Bahru
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Modern design has become extraordinarily successful at eliminating friction. Yet many of our most cherished memories are born from inconvenience, serendipity and imperfection. Have designers become too focused on optimisation at the expense of meaning? Are authenticity and intentionality complementary or competing concepts?
Honestly, authenticity is BS. After all, everything is an evolution of something else. I think intentionality, whether someone has designed something meaningful and well thought through, is what should be pursued and celebrated. If anything, modern convenience and sameness are what make unique experiences shine even brighter.
Bathhouse rituals that lead with design and intention are a good example. They are usually highly inconvenient, very intentional and exceptionally meaningful. The Capybara bathhouse in Singapore is one of them. Intention is the standard worth holding, not authenticity.
For much of the 20th century, architecture and design were concerned with shaping space. Today they seem increasingly concerned with shaping behaviour. At what point does design cease to be descriptive and become prescriptive?
I think it’s most beautiful when design can shape both the space and the way people move through it. There is nothing wrong with being prescriptive when designing a journey, such as a meal or a gallery exhibit, as long as it’s executed well and with intention.
Good design is often described as invisible. Yet the places people remember most vividly are rarely invisible. Do you think memorable design and good design are always the same thing?
I don’t buy that good design is invisible. If it disappears on you, you’re probably not looking hard enough. The best design is unforgettable. At the same time, there are plenty of places that stick with you for being bad, such as a sterile airport. Memorable just means it made an impression. Good design earns the memory, but bad design inflicts it.
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Above A brutalist structure, the School Block facade at New Bahru retains its original mid-century breeze blocks and panels for an eye-catching design
A brutalist structure, the School Block facade at New Bahru retains its original mid-century breeze blocks and panels for an eye-catching design
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Many cities now contain beautifully designed spaces that are admired but not loved. What is the difference between a place that photographs well and a place that people genuinely form attachments to?
Two things. First, the space has to come together to make people feel something. The senses beyond sight need to be evoked. How does it smell, taste, sound, feel?
A place that only photographs well is a place that only works for the eyes. Attachment comes when it all comes together and lands on you physically. Secondly, spaces still need to be activated. For example, with New Bahru, adaptive reuse was only the beginning, but programming, gatherings and activations that spark interaction are what brought it to life. Design it, and they will come; but getting them to keep coming back takes a lot more than the design itself. The love comes from what happens in the space, not just how it looks.
Historically, design reflected local constraints, materials and customs. Today, the world’s most affluent districts often resemble one another more than they resemble their own pasts. Is design losing its dialects?
To some degree, yes. But there are still people celebrating local context, craft, history and the specifics of a place rather than creating in a vacuum. So all is not lost, yet.
Designers often speak about sustainability in environmental terms. Should we also be speaking about emotional sustainability, the capacity of a place to remain meaningful over decades rather than merely fashionable for a season?
It’s a bit hard to quantify. But all cities and communities need institutions that can carry shared memories over time and generations. Those should be cherished and protected. I love how I.M. Pei’s children recently spoke out to help conserve the Dallas City Hall that their father designed.
Above Sun shading panels, an architectural detail of the property
Sun shading panels, an architectural detail of the property
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The most successful digital products are designed to maximise engagement. What would it mean to design a physical environment that optimises for reflection rather than attention?
It’s a wonderful idea, though nature also does this really well. A forest, a coastline, doesn't compete for your attention; it just lets your mind settle and wander. I think designing for reflection is partly about getting out of the way; that is, no notifications, no signage telling you where to look, no agenda or hard sells. You design the conditions for someone to be present, then you let them be.
Do you think the greatest luxury in contemporary design is no longer craftsmanship or rarity, but the creation of environments that allow people to feel genuinely present?
Yes, anyone with enough money can acquire beautiful things. What’s actually rare now is feeling present. The best design makes you want to live in the moment and take it all in. And that’s much harder to make than something merely expensive.
When a building, neighbourhood or institution becomes culturally important, how much of that success can genuinely be attributed to design, and how much arises from the unpredictable behaviour of the people who inhabit it?
Design can set the stage, but it can’t script what happens on it. The unpredictable bits, like how people actually use a place and the life they bring to it, are what turn a good building into a meaningful one, and you can't fully design that in. That said, I think intentional design increasingly plays a significant role in the making of an institution. The bar is too high now to leave it to chance; you have to design conditions good enough that the unpredictable, human part has somewhere to happen.
Cities invest heavily in physical infrastructure because its value is visible. Yet the spaces people remember most fondly often generate social infrastructure, friendships, rituals, chance encounters and a sense of belonging. Why do we still struggle to measure what may be the most important outcome of design?
It is hard to have a sense of how something makes people feel. Great leaders and decision-makers need intuition and taste, as many things cannot be measured or analysed.
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