I like to think I’m an avid reader. But when I first moved to Austin, it was what I saw more than what I read about the city that stuck with me. The blue river flowing underneath the Pennybacker Bridge, the multi-hued sky as the sun set, the birds flocking to the intersection of Burnet and MoPac at twilight, the number of young people running around under the hot sun. I still haven’t hopped on the bandwagon for that last image. Austin is a visually dynamic city, and I find myself discovering new angles to it every day.

As a trained architect (although not one licensed in the States), my eyes will inevitably search for the concrete and glass, trying to understand what it is that the buildings say about a place. For me, and I imagine for many others, the first tower that caught my eye was the Frost Bank, an interesting sculptural top sitting in the middle of downtown, almost like a giant-sized bird deterrent. I quickly discovered the lore that accompanied this crown - it looks like an owl, it reminds an old columnist of a hair trimmer, there exists a conspiracy around a child-gobbling God. Austin has since seen many other towers prop up, especially with its (somewhat) growing residential needs, but it doesn’t feel like many others came with their pack of stories. This lack of modern architectural charisma leads me to wonder what it is that makes people engage with buildings, and why it is that all structures do not develop personalities of their own. Is the endless blue and white wraparound just boring? Or is it actively turning people away?

Fast forward to August 2025, and we see the Waterline nearing completion. This one promises to be more. I like how it almost curves into the river, creating a valley-like impression to its facade. It has a bolder strategy - it does not simply keep a respectful distance from the river, but instead aims to blend into it to develop this constructional geography, this new formative kind of architecture. Catering to nature is not an unknown concept, of course, and we see another building stand not too far away nodding to the water. But I wonder if construction suggests a cultural authority just by its ability to signal visual reminders to the world of the city it belongs to. What is it that the Waterline says about Austin? Will people come up with stories like they did about the Frost Bank? Images and renders used to publicize the building will inevitably fall short of reality - ads are always an ode to a future that has yet to arrive.

It is also quite possible that I haven’t met the people responsible for building lore in general. Which raises another question - is lore meant to be organic, or should designers aspire to have their projects generate a narrative? Throughout design school, I was taught to work up from a concept, but in the real world, where finances and boards have greater authority, I dare say things work differently.

But maybe there will be stories about this new structure that promises to put the city into yet another best-of-something list. The world as we know it today is changing, where relatable content is what makes things become relevant, bits that are easily digestible. The Waterline is also the only new blue building that seems to have inspired talk of any kind, at least in the circles I move in, while many other skyscrapers in the city have merely been lego-ed to completion in hopes of adding more rental space. With the slogan ‘Keep Austin Weird’ always at the forefront of the city, I can imagine the team behind the Waterline working harder to ensure it would not be just another international structure. The wink at neo-modernism is grounded in Austin’s regional context, and feels like a very personal design addition to the city. I might just start some theories of my own - maybe the building stands guardian to the river, or maybe it’s meant to catch a reflection of the pink and purple skies Austin poetically boasts of.

It feels like a good example to follow for more forms of development in terms of the style followed, even as native Austinites disapprove of the verticality and cost of living downtown. While I sympathize, I also view the city through an entirely different lens, and am curious to see how it grows. Whether this growth is a good thing or a bad thing would require another longer essay, and right now I’ve got a sunset to catch. The Waterline hasn’t quite yet begun to play its role.