Legal, but not right: How loopholes ruin cities. Lessons from Malta.
Why some buildings pass policy and still fail the street
There’s a particular kind of disappointment only buildings can deliver. You walk down a quiet street, modest two-storey homes, a rhythm of front gardens, soft boundaries, and then it hits you: the five-storey slab that stretches to the property line, topped with a glazed balcony jutting out another 750mm.
We’ve grown used to thinking of the law as the end of the conversation. That if a permit is issued, then no wrong has been done. But the built environment doesn’t work like that. It lives in the spaces between policy and perception, in rhythm, restraint, and things that are felt before they’re measured.
Pencil developments: vertical loopholes
In Malta, we’ve started calling them pencil developments, slender, out-of-place buildings that loom over their neighbours, stretching policy to its limit. They’re legal. They’re feasible. But they interrupt everything: the skyline, the streetscape, the sense of order.
The recent Santa Luċija case offered a rare moment of clarity. A five-storey infill was proposed in a street of two-storey homes. The Planning Authority refused it. The Tribunal reversed. But the court stepped in and ruled that height wasn’t the only measure, character mattered too. And when every other property respected a front garden and a uniform scale, this one couldn’t simply cash in on technical allowances. It was a precedent. And it felt like justice.
Loopholes don’t build places
Still, these projects persist. Developments that ignore setbacks. Balconies that quietly overreach. Alignments broken on the basis of outdated footprints or legal grey areas.
The result is the same: one building that changes the logic of a whole street.
We’re not against development. But we are against treating cities like spreadsheets, where compliance replaces judgement, and loopholes become strategy. We’ve created a culture where doing the bare minimum is enough, and where restraint is seen as a missed opportunity.
For a deeper look at how space itself tells a story, and why proportion and rhythm matter as much as structure, read Spatial Dramaturgy.
It’s not just Malta
Cities across the world face the same dilemma. In Hong Kong, pencil developments rise to 40 storeys on footprints smaller than a townhouse, often one apartment per floor. In New York, air rights are stacked and sold to build “as-of-right” skyscrapers that cast shadows over Central Park.
Every one of these buildings is legal. But legality doesn’t make them right.
The damage they cause isn’t structural, it’s social. They erode light, rhythm, and the invisible agreements that make cities feel coherent.
We choose another way
At Bureau 105, we’re fortunate to work with people who understand that not everything that’s possible is necessarily worth pursuing. Some of the most rewarding projects we’ve worked on have emerged from this shared ethic, where a client chose light over an extra room, proportion over height, and the quiet dignity of a well-scaled street over attention-seeking massing. These are the kinds of decisions that make a place feel coherent, generous, and lasting.
A quiet question
We are not here to preach. This isn’t a manifesto.
It’s just a question we return to often:
Even if I can build this, should I?
Because permits are temporary. Trends fade. And buildings outlive both.
Because a broken street is like a broken bone. It heals, but never quite the same.
