Architecture is more than the art of shaping space—it’s a mirror of the times we live in. In 2025, when we ask what it means to be an architect, the answer is far more complex than simply “someone who designs buildings.” Rapid technological advancement, shifting societal structures, and growing environmental pressures are reshaping the role of architecture in profound ways.
Take the upcoming EDGE Architecture Festival in Budapest, for example. As Hungary’s first international architecture festival, initiated by the country’s leading architectural platform Építészfórum, it brings together global voices to reflect on where architecture is heading. But beyond the panels and keynotes, it’s the deeper questions raised by the festival that resonate most: What challenges are architects facing today? What defines the aesthetic of our time? And in a world of constant change, do we still need to build?
Over the past few decades, the role of architects has quietly evolved. Once seen primarily as form-makers and function-optimizers, they now increasingly wear the hats of social mediators, environmental strategists, and tech-savvy visionaries. Dutch architect Emily van der Broek is a telling example. In the outskirts of Amsterdam, she recently completed a housing project based on shared living principles. The structures are built from modular timber and reclaimed glass. But as Emily herself points out, “The biggest challenge wasn’t technical—it was listening. We weren’t just designing houses; we were designing how people wanted to live together.”
Meanwhile, in Brooklyn, Joseph Carter is pushing the boundaries between data science and urban design. He’s developed a system that uses real-time urban heat island data to guide the placement of parks and green corridors in the city. While his work may sound abstract, it’s a direct response to very real issues like climate stress and the lack of accessible public space.
So, what does it mean to be an architect in 2025? It means stepping into a highly interdisciplinary role—one that requires design sensitivity, technological literacy, social empathy, and even a bit of psychology. It’s about shaping space, yes—but it’s also about shaping behavior, culture, and possibility.
And that brings us to a critical question: in a world already saturated with buildings, do we really need to keep building more?
This assumption—that architecture must always involve new construction—is increasingly being questioned. In cities like Berlin and San Francisco, where land is scarce and resources limited, temporary architecture is emerging as a more sustainable alternative. One architecture school in Munich recently developed modular classrooms that can be erected and dismantled within days, catering to short-term educational needs without leaving a lasting environmental footprint.
Sometimes, the best form of architecture isn’t a building at all. More and more architects are exploring “non-building” strategies—applying architectural thinking to reshape existing spaces, policies, and social systems. British architect Leah Miller worked with local government and residents in South London to rejuvenate underused public areas, not by constructing new structures, but by co-designing how those spaces could better serve the community. The result? Stronger neighborhood bonds, safer environments, and a deeper sense of place—all without laying a single brick.
Aesthetically, too, things are changing. Minimalism is no longer the undisputed king. A new design language is emerging—one that embraces contrast, complexity, and materials with a visible history. In a newly built community center just outside Paris, the roof is a shape-shifting 3D-printed membrane, while the walls are made from recycled construction rubble. It’s not “clean” in the traditional sense, but it’s alive. Kids play, elders chat, and the space breathes with activity. What once might have been seen as chaos now reads as vitality.
And then there’s AI. Love it or fear it, artificial intelligence is already transforming how architecture is practiced. A recent experiment at MIT had AI co-design a new academic building. The layouts were hyper-efficient—but something felt off. “The design was smart,” said MIT professor Irene Sanchez, “but it lacked soul. We still need humans to bring emotional intelligence into the process.”
At its core, architecture in 2025 is no longer just about space. It’s about time. It’s about context, adaptability, and above all, relevance. Climate collapse, social inequality, and technological disruption have forced the profession to reconsider its own foundations. Architecture is no longer just a response to place—it’s a question about the future.
Which is why EDGE Festival matters. Held in Budapest, a city layered with history yet brimming with change, the festival is not a showroom of finished work—it’s a forum for asking better questions. Architects, researchers, and dreamers from across the world will gather not just to present, but to speculate, to share, and to imagine together.
Because ultimately, the answers to architecture’s most urgent questions won’t be found in blueprints. They’ll be found in conversation—in the messy, unpredictable, beautifully human act of figuring things out, together.