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There are two ways to look at the collision of one's beliefs having pursued an architectural degree, and starting one's first job in architecture. A collision between one's assumptions and reality may not be the nicest experience, yet it can be truly valuable. Such collision, as long as either of the two doesn't change, is inevitable. Such a collision between an architecture graduate's thoughts, and the reality of working in a practice can have positives and negatives – but such an occasionally uncomfortable thing can be beneficial, and in fact broaden a graduate's skillset.
When the two worlds collide
Architecture is mainly taught through a five-year course. Students optionally, and quite often, take ‘a year out’ between third and fourth year to (most often) work in architectural practice, which is likely to be their first long-term and intense experience with architecture as a career. As long as architecture is taught in the manner it is, the collision between a student's assumptions and beliefs, and their real-world priorities is almost inevitable.
Such a collision creates an opportunity to question their real-world priorities, and might possibly lead to their improvement, or at least understanding of their role in practice. This can make following their principles easy, intentional, and sensible. However, such collision can, in reality, prove an obstacle – when the theory and the practice don't align, the theory can often feel like a waste of time. This should, in turn, be an incentive to challenge the theory or even practice, so that students and graduates would feel more familiar with life after graduation – if familiarity is considered the only ‘right’ way to be prepared.
Collision as a benefit and an opportunity
Collision between one's assumptions, beliefs, and priorities, and with every-day architectural practice is inevitable due to the nature of how architecture is sometimes taught. In college, one goes through years of working on various projects in theory to learn how to think when it comes to creating space. For instance, one is expected to pay attention to how the space feels, how it gets constructed and used, about its environmental impact, and last but not least, what it looks like.
Nonetheless, designing in an architectural studio seems to be rarely led by these criteria, although they are hopefully the ultimate goal. For example, affordability, practicality, and buildability most often seem to be more important than aesthetics, comfort, and innovation.
Aesthetics is invariably resolved by manufacturers producing a tested list of windows and doors, bricks, kitchen cabinets, and roof tiles to choose from, which are generally considered aesthetically pleasing, but most importantly buildable. They are mostly prefabricated and rely on certification, and a builder’s familiarity with them. This in turn ensures that they are the most affordable option, a priority – particularly in housing. An attempt to use bespoke windows, with a particular aesthetic in mind, will prove pointless due to the cost of production, testing, and certification. This naturally leads to a question as to whether one can design and construct a thoughtful building whilst almost entirely using prefabricated products. More pertinently, a graduate may wonder whether one can aspire to design aesthetically pleasing buildings at all – these may begin to feel like the naïve remain of the college experience that fades away with time?
Comfort has been (allegedly) defined by minimum sizes of houses and apartments, along with sizing bedrooms, storage spaces, living spaces, balconies, and terraces through housing guidelines – along with often-used typical details of construction elements such as precast concrete floor slabs, or particularly timber frame panels. In this instance, it feels as if there is no need for another Le Corbusier´s ‘Modulor’ studied in the college environment. Here, one was encouraged to re-think what has been established to understand it, and to aspire to improve upon it. Indeed, the fact that something has long been constructed in a certain manner does not mean it is being built in the right way – so how can one be sure that the prescribed and recommended design is ideal, if one is not encouraged to question it?
Innovative solutions are imprisoned between building regulations and cost requirements that are often non-negotiable. One can either view them as a challenge or as a barrier, and given architecture's role in tackling various societal issues and in making our environment a better place, it feels best to see them as a challenge.
In truth, the collision between a freshly college-influenced mind and the architectural world poses several questions which could lead to an improvement of the real-world rules by which we construct spaces, an improvement rooted in not accepting reality as it is. In other words, I believe perceiving all the limitations as a challenge rather than as a barrier is the best way in which to improve our built environment.
Collision as an incentive
Nonetheless, the collision between architectural theory and architectural practice can also be viewed as a wrinkle that needs to be ironed out of a graduate. Resolving this discrepancy can be performed by changing the means by which architecture is taught, by establishing fewer rules, and by making both theory and practice more intertwined.
Architectural courses should enhance one's creative and problem-solving skills, as well as one´s interest in new solutions and techniques. However, in practice affordability and practicality often prove more important than aesthetics and innovation precisely because they ensure people have a roof over their head, and the safety provided by that essentially offers comfort. It can often feel as if there is no use in pursuing one´s creative skills and innovative thinking, as building regulations and design manuals have already tackled various scenarios. In this reality, architectural courses should perhaps be more reflective of the real work environment, and the philosophy of practice.
This collision could be avoided by changing the way architecture is taught. If theory were more like everyday practice, graduates would be provided with a more realistic view of what a career in architecture will be like. In principle, this would allow a student make a more informed decision as to whether a career in architecture is what they aspire to.
Collision as a way to improve
This collision is a good thing because it creates potential for improvement, and disillusion can encourage one to discover a different way to make use of one's skills. It creates space for questioning, understanding, and possibly improving architectural practice and, in turn, our environment – rather than choosing to resign oneself to an inevitability.
Present Tense is supported by the Arts Council through the Arts Grant Funding Award 2025.
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By the time I turned sixteen, I had already let most of my hobbies fall by the wayside. Art, basketball, ballet, theatre – all of these are things which I used to love but inevitably gave up one-by-one as I entered adolescence. The common denominator being that I felt I simply could not spare the time for these hobbies. But this begs the question as to why a young girl might find herself worrying about time – why did I feel like I was in a time deficit at such a young age? The sad reality of this is that there are a number of things which eventually lead young girls to disproportionately abandon hobbies and pastimes in their adolescence. Social pressure, self-consciousness, and time redistribution toward academics are all contributing factors. However, there was a hidden undercurrent of something deeper and far older as I slowly let go of my hobbies; an internalisation that devoting time and dedication towards the pursuit of something simply for its own pleasure is a luxury which is less available to me as a woman [1] [2].
When the time came for me to choose a career path at the too-young age of eighteen, I weighed my options carefully. The pressure to choose wisely was immense, and there was a massive push for women to pursue careers in STEM. While I was good at maths and physics, I also loved art, music, and languages. Sadly, I dismissed those subjects which might be viewed as more ‘feminine’, such as art or music, feeling that as I was lucky enough to be good with numbers I ought not to waste it [3]. I was conflicted – that part of me which had loved art and drawing was calling out for something more creative, yet I pushed myself towards sciences and engineering. When a teacher suggested architecture to me, it almost seemed too good to be true – the perfect marriage between creativity and calculated logic. And so, knowing almost nothing about the profession, I began my journey through architecture school.
To many, the image of the eccentric, ‘gentleman architect’ is a familiar one [4]. An artist figure, sketchbook in hand, running his hand softly over board-marked concrete. In fact, I might argue that the image of the eccentric architect is a romanticised one, perhaps to the point where it risks becoming comical – the architect who dream-walks through his building at night, scrambling for a pencil in the early hours with a new design in his head. Architects have long been characterised by their sacrifice, passion, and devotion to their craft – their work coming before all else. This attitude continues to permeate through all stages of the profession, from early years in architecture school and late into successful careers.
As I made my way through my undergraduate studies, the years were defined by long days, late nights in the studio, and weekends spent burning the midnight oil in the library. While I loved my time in studio and had a great relationship with my peers, I began to realise that I was struggling to find time for much else other than my studies. Once again, my hobbies took a backseat. Meeting friends and pursuing any extra curriculars become increasingly more difficult. In my early years in university, I worked a part-time job, and I was warned by many older students and even a few tutors that I might need to quit once things got busy. I remember thinking how ridiculous an idea that was, how should I be expected to pay my way without working? The truth is that this attitude stems from a much older and dangerous idea; that architecture is not a job, but instead an avocation, historically accessible only to those who could afford it.
Architecture first developed as a pursuit in the 15th century, divorcing itself from the previous medieval vocation of the ‘master builder’[5]. In the renaissance, architecture positioned itself as a ‘gentleman’s profession’, quickly distinguishing itself from building trades and labour by aligning more closely with intellectual endeavours. Training comprised of extended periods of travel, unpaid apprenticeships, and long periods of study. Thus, architecture was positioned as an artistic calling. Depending heavily on patronage and private income, it emerged as a passion first and a career second. Availability and financial flexibility heavily influenced the profession as it developed, meaning dedication was measured not by only skill, but by a willingness to prioritise the craft. It is these assumptions, then, which resulted in a profession that disproportionately excluded women, as they had less access to independent wealth, educational opportunities, and professional networks.
When I finished my undergraduate studies and entered the workforce, I was eager and enthusiastic to leave the long days in studio behind me. The idea of a ‘nine to five’ seemed a dream and I could not wait to reclaim my evenings and weekends. I am lucky enough to have worked with some amazing women over the last few years, who continue to amaze me in their hard work and dedication within this male-dominated field. However, certain realities of the profession became more apparent to me. As it turns out, the long hours and late nights were far from over. It is true that architecture is a discipline of passion, and the profession today balances being both a cultural contribution, and a skilled trade which sustains the built environment. There is a thin line, however, between admirable devotion and a potentially dangerous culture of sacrifice which risks exclusion.
The road to architecture remains long and expensive. Many years of study are followed by professional experience and further professional examinations. Emerging graduates are offered long hours for low salaries, while entering a world with a near inaccessible housing market and record high costs of living. When sacrifice is romanticised, and long hours are reframed as commitment – an assumed requirement rather than an occasional exception – it begs the question of how sustainable the career is in the long run. The expectation that architects will give more time than they are compensated for still persists, sustained by the belief that architecture is a career driven by passion rather than financial necessity.
As women, we begin to recognise that these expectations are not neutral – that a profession built on constant sacrifice quietly determines who can remain, and who cannot. While my university class boasted an equal ratio of male to female students, female representation in architecture drastically decreases at senior levels. Despite gradual moves towards a more balanced gender representation in architecture, I can’t help but wonder if the avocation mindset plays a significant role. The expectation of constant availability, sacrifice, and prioritisation over all else conflicts with career interruptions such as pregnancy, familial responsibilities, and caregiving duties which continue to disproportionately affect women [6]. I am a young woman at the very beginning of my career, and I would be lying if I told you these concerns had never crossed my mind. The expectation of constant availability and sacrifice reflects an outdated assumption of who an architect is. As I approach my thirties, I find myself worrying how sustainable a career in architecture is for me if I want to have children and raise a family.
These concerns feel increasingly urgent in Ireland today. This mindset which views architecture as a 'gentleman’s profession' risks excluding a diverse range of people who are drawn to it. Framing the profession as an intellectual pursuit discredits a skilled career which is highly technical, as well as socially and culturally valuable. I grow increasingly nervous that architecture might become something I may not have the luxury or flexibility to maintain without sacrificing something important. While I love my field of practice, and am passionate about my chosen career, the truth remains that architecture is not my avocation. My job is not my hobby.
In this article, Ciara O’Connell closes our mini-series ‘Drafting Identity’ which focuses on the experience of women in Architectural Education from both personal and professional perspectives, supporting the FIAE movement. Ciara explores the pressures a career in architecture places on life outside of work, and the significant material impacts that places on women, in particular.
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Architecture is widely considered to be an incredibly innovative profession. For centuries, it has played a crucial role in shaping our urban landscapes and societies. This innovation and creativity which characterise the profession is first nurtured in the early stages of education. The excitement sparked by entering the first year of university develops into a growing sense of possibility as the years progress. However, for an industry so forward-thinking, the issue of how women fit into its identity structure has very much “remained unresolved” [1].
When I began my own career almost 7 years ago, it appeared to me that the field was largely male dominated, particularly in the way architects were celebrated and publicised. Many of the names, faces, and projects I encountered were male, which subconsciously shaped my understanding of who typically occupied positions of recognition and authority within the field. While my academic experience in architectural education has been shaped by a diverse student cohort, my professional experience beyond academia has highlighted an underrepresentation of women among firm partners, associates, and managers.
The statistics, supported by RIAI-sponsored research, show how gender balance in architectural education unfortunately doesn’t directly translate into female representation at the top level in the country. In Ireland, only 30% of registered architects are women, with as little as 16% occupying principal or leadership roles in RIAI-registered practices [2]. The issue, however, is not the lack of ambition, ability, or women’s desire to enter the field. Recent decades have seen a growing number of women choosing architecture as a career path with Irish architecture schools achieving gender balance since the 1990s. Since “as many women as men qualify with degrees in architecture”, it's important to question where the deeper rooted imbalance, often referred to as the “leaky pipeline", comes from [2]. This metaphor is often used to describe the disappearance of women from career pipelines as seniority increases.
Historically, architecture has been shaped by a culture of extreme working hours and a lack of flexibility, where wearing tiredness as a badge of honour is often expected. From under-recognition to pay gaps, the challenges women face within the profession remain largely unchanged. A survey discussed by Dervla MacManus and Katherine O’Donnell in the ‘I am an architect’, gender and professional identity in architecture research article reveals a clear contrast in how gender is perceived in architectural careers. While 45% of men reported that gender has no influence on their career thinking, only 2% considered it important. In contrast, 41% of women described it as extremely influential [1].
Since “architectural practice relies on long working hours, homosocial behaviour and creative control”, many women, particularly those with caregiving responsibilities, can find the profession difficult to sustain long term [3]. Those who do reach senior roles however, often receive less recognition in comparison to their male colleagues. From precedent case study lists handed out in universities, to the industry’s most prestigious awards; female architects contributions have not always received equal acknowledgement. The case of Denise Scott Brown is a well-known example of female achievements being overlooked, as she was excluded from the Pritzker Architecture Prize, which was awarded solely to Robert Venturi despite their collaborative work [4].
During my university exchange abroad one of the elective modules offered was titled ‘Women in Architecture’. It was a 5 credit course dedicated specifically to exploring women’s contributions to the field. I was excited to partake, however I equally found myself wondering why this topic needed to be defined seperately. Did the module come to life due to women’s work being significantly overlooked within the mainstream architectural curriculum? What stood out to me the most however, was how fast the class reached full capacity with a waitlist forming as a result. Its popularity suggested a genuine interest among students for a more expansive and inclusive learning environment, regardless of gender.
For students like myself who seek female role models on a daily basis, representation is incredibly valuable. Recognising and celebrating women is not only symbolic, but it actively shapes the aspirations of young women entering architectural education. How we record the history and achievements of all architects, despite gender or background, not only influences our understanding of the profession today, but also advocates for a more inclusive architecture culture. Conversations like these create a future that is not abstract or unattainable, but something women can see themselves embodying.
Experiencing representation first hand has deepened my understanding of what it truly means for women in practice. When I began my first role in the professional world of architecture, it came with the stress and imposter syndrome that often accompanies any new position, particularly your first. This pressure however, felt significantly eased after being assigned a female mentor; someone who reflected my background and experiences in a professional setting. This experience made a meaningful difference for me from the very first day. Her guidance played a key role in helping me settle in and grow in confidence. It also helped me understand the potential of my career development and the direction I wanted it to take. It allowed me to set goals that felt both tangible and exciting.
Recognition, representation and mentorship at the top tiers of the profession carry immense value. Having experienced it first hand, I understand how powerful it can be, not only for confidence building, but also for shaping drive and ambition. An industry with a ‘leaky pipeline’ misses out on a wider range of perspectives and approaches where design can suffer as a result. I hope the topic of a more inclusive architecture culture becomes an everyday norm – particularly for those starting out as young professionals, trying to navigate the uncertainties of their early careers in the pure chaos of the world of architecture.
In this article, Julia Przado continues our mini-series ‘Drafting Identity’ which focuses on the experience of women in Architectural Education from both personal and professional perspectives, supporting the FIAE movement. Julia explores the underrepresentation of women in senior roles within the architectural profession, and the importance of representation, recognition and mentorship.
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The architecture crit as an assessment format has remained largely unchanged since its inception. Conceived in the 1850s by the Beaux-Art School curriculum, it marked a shift from apprenticeships at ateliers toward academic degrees at University [1]. Despite the profession itself undergoing numerous transformations, this aspect feels stuck in time. When asked to write a piece about my experience in architectural education, ‘crit culture’ immediately came to mind.
Ahead of presenting in front of a review panel, there is a feeling of discomfort. A mental note to speak loudly, stand tall and stay concise, all while getting your concept across. The week before a review becomes a drawing marathon, racing to complete and pin-up the ‘finished’ product. The dread of the crit is experienced by all students, but there is an unstated imbalance between male and female students.
It is undeniable that students learn important life skills through preparing for a review, such as public speaking and presenting under time constraints. However, the crit environment emphasises a particular kind of thinking where students are encouraged to present as the ‘masters’ of their project [1]. It is formal and declarative. By contrast, design work is rarely this way. It is a slow process that emerges from continuous iterations and thoughtful decision making. It is often difficult to portray the experiential intentions of the project during a review. It is much easier to defend a rigid master plan than it is to discuss the way a space feels and the material process behind it. These are gendered qualities of architectural presentation. Masculine ideas perform well in crit environments; they are more structured and easier to make coherent in a drawing. Whereas the feminine attributes fall to easier scrutiny; they are attributes rooted in process, feeling, and care.
During a crit, your work is performing and you become part of the performance to the audience of jurors. In this becoming, there is an inequality between male and female students. As the body plays a part in this performance, it is worth analysing the historical role of the female body in visual culture and performance. There has been a gendered dynamic present throughout visual culture in western society. Laura Mulvey diligently outlines this in her work ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’ [2]. She describes how men are accustomed to seeing themselves portrayed as the protagonist and driver of the narrative, whereas women are accustomed to seeing themselves as the spectacle. These dynamics are internalised and can affect the way in which each gender approaches a review.
The lack of female role models in architectural discourse feeds this narrative. For decades, we have idolised the ‘starchitects’, who are predominantly male. It is no wonder women have trouble self-identifying with the protagonist in this profession. Typically, architecture schools place female students standing before a predominantly male, seated jury. This has a significant impact on female presenters, as it reinforces a spatial hierarchy where emphasis is placed on performance and presentation, rather than broadening conversation and engaging with people on a horizontal level. This structure is another aspect of the crit that is culturally coded in gendered norms of masculinity.
Established in an all-male environment, the review feels outdated and disconnected from the realities of working practice, where design is collaborative and dynamic, and involves multiple actors working together. The crit forces women to bend our femininity to fit a system that has historically excluded it. It perpetually legitimises gender norms within the realm of architectural education. With this, we lose an opportunity for critics to establish a self-identity with us and our work, and this generates a bias. I experience an immediate wave of calmness on review day when a female reviewer is present. It marks an opportunity for self-determination.
Elisa Iturbe said, within her paper ‘Women & The Architectural Review: the Gendered Presentation of Architectural Work’, that “Our femininity is rejected when we must speak loudly and boldly to an audience of predominantly men” [3]. In feminist pedagogy, relationships between teachers and students exist on a less vertical plane. Power and knowledge become shared [4]. Last semester, instead of the standard presentation format for our Architectural Technology module, a group of 4 female students, Julia, Róisín, Ciara, and I, came together to create a podcast to share our work with each other and our peers. This conversational and collaborative discussion was deeply beneficial to all of our learning. It removed the hierarchy associated with a presentation, and felt rooted in feminist pedagogy.
A crit established in an all-male environment is adversarial and performative, favouring bold ideas, structured drawings, and encouraging a ‘master’ mindset. A crit reimagined by an all-female group of 4 becomes a collaborative dialogue for sharing ideas. Hierarchies are removed and time is given to explain process and materiality. Architecture itself creates the physical and cultural framework in which we as a society exist and progress. Architectural education should be no exception. No aspect of it should perpetuate gender biases.
In this article, Kate Crowley continues our mini-series ‘Drafting Identity’ which focuses on the experience of women in Architectural Education from both personal and professional perspectives, supporting the FIAE movement. Kate discusses ‘crit culture’ in architectural education and the impact that dynamic has on women, in particular.
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