Aviation’s Great Debates: ‘Big Roof’ VS Human Scale

Airports are symbols of their cities and gateways to the lives they represent.

A city’s grand entry creates a powerful impression, making an architectural statement essential. At the same time, reflecting local character and culture ensures a memorable experience for everyone.

This debate centres on the matter of deciding the best design approach: Should we prioritise the architectural grandeur of the “big roof” or focus on the comfortable tactility of designing at a “human scale”?

The case for the ‘big roof’ is clear: Creating a large-scale visual presence from both land and sky is an extremely rare privilege, and the roof is the key to making a strong architectural statement.

Beyond being visually striking, a good big roof is also flexible—an overarching canopy that stands strong for years while adapting to the ever-changing needs of the environment beneath. Designing airports is complex, and it’s increasingly important for these massive infrastructures to flex, evolve, and expand over time.

A big roof can also help visitors find their way, setting the framework for intuitive wayfinding and easing navigation. Tall glass facades and high ceilings flood the space with natural light, guiding passengers to their gates while enhancing comfort with elegance. Space is the ultimate luxury, but determining the right amount and form of space is a matter of personal interpretation—comfort, with everything at your fingertips.

Yet, I question whether the big roof alone can create a sense of connection in a space that holds so many. While a big roof offers an iconic identity, can’t this be achieved on a human scale?

As a designer, my life goal is to create and enhance people’s lives through experience. My first love was deep and abstract design, inspired by Gaudí, who carefully considered every detail to strengthen a concept and bring joy—from the shape of a door handle to the pattern in the glass. Large, open spaces like airports used to feel intimidating to me, and I would search for a quiet nook off the beaten path, which rarely existed.

Today, we have dedicated spaces for those needs, reflecting the inclusivity of modern life. But shouldn’t these elements blend seamlessly into the design? Shouldn’t the ultimate human design response seamlessly accommodate needs both great and small?

When we think about people, we realise that while everyone has similar basic needs, individual experiences and personalities shape what we’re seeking. The purpose of an airport is to move people on and off planes, but people also want a stress-free environment—easy navigation, comfortable seating, and the amenities that make them feel at home.

If you set up ten different chairs, it’s unlikely everyone will choose the same favourite. Factors like physicality, mentality, culture, mood, and company all influence behaviour and preferences. Everyone wants a chair, but not the same one—people want choice.

If we are not designing for humans, who are we really designing for? I believe we characterise a space through the people that use it.

Can both a big roof and human scale achieve this? Absolutely.

We use spatial form to guide movement—where do you naturally speed up, and where do you slow down? Are there noticeable shifts in building form or volume that influence these changes?

I often engage in thoughtful conversations with my children, sparking their creativity. Recently, my daughter asked, “What came first, the chicken or the egg?” My son quickly answered, “the chicken—an evolution of the dinosaur,” confidently dismissing other possibilities. I, however, like the idea that the egg came first. Just as the egg is the origin of the chicken, the core values and needs of a space are the starting point for its design – the essence of any space begins from within.

So, my answer is that the people who use the space should drive the design response. Sometimes this means a big roof, but it always means human scale.