Edinburgh’s skyline, so often associated with stately turrets and Gothic revival grandeur, can look like a scene straight out of a storybook – until, that is, you come face to face with Appleton Tower, or, even worse, 40 George Square. Their geometric forms, uncompromising in their concrete cladding, present an unexpected visual jolt in a city celebrated for centuries-old stonework. Yet these unapologetically Brutalist structures are more than just oddities or punchlines about car parks; they represent a rebellious spirit and a practical ethos that have helped the University of Edinburgh keep pace with modern demands.
Critics might scoff that Appleton Tower’s façade looks as if a giant toddler discarded a half-finished Lego project on Edinburgh’s otherwise angelic skyline, but Brutalist architecture, for all its heft, is underpinned by a principled approach: functionality, structural clarity, and democratic space. For a growing university in the post-war era, the style was a natural fit. Concrete was cheaper and quicker to construct than the traditional stone Edinburgh is famous for, making it easier to build lecture halls, labs, and meeting areas for an ever-expanding student body. In a sense, these buildings wore their hearts on their sleeves, dispensing with ornamental flourishes in favour of practicality and the belief that space – well-designed – speaks for itself.
When the Scottish sun sits at just the right angle, you’ll notice something quietly majestic about the deep lines and sharply drawn shadows on these concrete walls. The surfaces reveal a surprising adaptability, acting like massive sculptural canvases that shift in mood depending on the time of day or the weather. In that moment – yes, perhaps a fleeting one – the building feels almost playful, hinting at the subtlety that’s often obscured by its unrefined exterior. That rawness is precisely the point. Brutalism refuses to put on airs; it aims to confront us with the building’s true essence, whether you happen to be a fan of concrete or not.
These mid-to-late 20th-century additions reflect a time of bold thinking in higher education – of expansion, modernisation, and a desire to create buildings that put people first. Their presence also demands that we occasionally look beyond the city’s historic veneer to consider how past generations confronted the challenges of rapid growth. The unpolished concrete quietly proclaims progress can’t always be dressed in ribbon and lace.
Edinburgh’s charm lies partly in its ability to weave together diverse eras, allowing them to coexist in a rich tapestry. The Brutalist blocks, with their grey exteriors and uncompromising angles, serve as reminders that universities are not simply relics of tradition but living institutions, ever adapting to new ideas. Mock them if you must, but there’s a paradoxical elegance in these buildings, a testament to the idea that functionality and comfort can be just as beautiful as spires and turrets – if only you’re willing to see it.
Illustration by Nat Jakobi