"Green Water Village", courtesy of Arch Out Loud
"Green Water Village", courtesy of Arch Out Loud

Are Floating Cities the Future for Southwest Florida?

In the face of rising sea levels and population density in South Florida, designers are exploring inventive solutions for a sustainable future.

by

Water is everywhere in Southwest Florida and affects everyone. Along with the beauty, there is much to contend with when living with water. After Hurricane Ian, the sinking of the beloved Cape Romano Dome House presented a sharp visual of the effects of eroding shorelines, storm surges and rising sea level. The off-grid compound was built on Marco Island in the 1980s; by 2004, water had reached the concrete pillars. Over the next decade, the domes continued their steady stroll away from land to about 300 feet offshore, where they remained as a cultural icon until the hurricane overtook the remaining pods in 2022.  

The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) satellite data shows the rate of sea-level rise is rapidly accelerating, with 90 percent of the world’s coastal cities projected to be affected by 2050. 

Now, for the good news:  architects and engineers have been devising myriad solutions for life on land (building higher, adding seawalls, devising stricter building codes). More recently, innovators have started developing plans for living on the water, with floating cities top of mind. 

While sea cities may sound Jetsonian, watertop living offers solutions for current issues—floating structures can move with shifting conditions and scale up with their modular forms. This isn’t science fiction­—the United Nations is partnering with blue tech company Oceanix for a prototype of a 12,000-resident community in Busan, South Korea, and the Maldives green-lit construction for 5,000 linked units on a 500-acre lagoon. 

Closer to home, the Arch Out Loud research initiative ran the international Miami Floating Housing Competition. The challenge had interdisciplinary teams fathom a neighborhood of floating housing for displaced residents of the city’s Little Haiti and Little River. The Biscayne Bay communities are threatened by climate gentrification—a term referring to the compounding effect of rising sea levels and rising housing costs causing wealthier residents to move to less-exposed areas. Neighborhoods similar to, say, Bayshore Arts District or Downtown Bonita Springs, which are close enough to the beach but less exposed, farther inland and on higher ground.  

Arch Out Loud founder Kyle Zook put affordability at the contest’s forefront, addressing a skepticism around floating cities, which cautions they may become communes for the rich. Zook called for affordable housing for at least 45 people on Biscayne Bay between Legion Memorial Park and the offshore Legion Picnic Island. (Imagine a floating village stretching from Port Royal to Keewaydin Island or Pine Island to Sanibel.) 

The winning entry, Green Water Village by Italian architect Gabriele Filippi, presents a biophilic vision, with verdant, prefab glass, metal and wood homes atop caissons (water-tight, box-like structures used for bridges) for a practical,  affordable solution. Clustered into islets and connected by a meandering pathway, homes are encased in a glassy superstructure filled with greenery to provide privacy between close-knit homes. 

Prefab buildings are essential throughout the pitches to ensure scalability, efficiency and consistent quality. But, designers paid equal attention to aesthetics, elevating the concept from shipping container-style units to adorned homes, often with some customization. Mahiti Bay proposes units built around a concrete core with steel-framed rooms that can be reconfigured and an expandable wooden facade. A couple drafts take on a decidedly cool midcentury vibe (see: Floating Lybriancce ). 

Other renderings delight with Caribbean-style shutters, spacious terraces, floor-to-ceiling windows, architectural screens and sweeping forms, fostering a sense of place. Designs with private docks for all predict a fully aquatic lifestyle, in which people move around by canoes, paddles and other vessels. In Little Lemon, modular furnishings that disappear into the walls maximize tight quarters, and the neighborhood connects to the mainland via a hinged bridge. 

While there are concerns around any development and the impact of ocean communities on the marine ecosystem, floating cities afford us the opportunity to learn from the past and lead with regenerative methods. Proposed residences have solar panels, rainwater collection and wind turbines. Some add desalination plants and bioenergy production. Floating Archpelago even plans for an algae-fueled energy scientific center to develop new tech. 

Most aim toward complete self-reliance, with organic waste diverted to agricultural uses; smart grid, decentralized energy-sharing systems; and communal and vertical gardens, and aquaponic and underwater farms. And, while designs lean into progressive renewable energy sources—walk-on solar panels that can go on more surfaces (like floors), cross-laminated timber—Florida vernacular tools (deep eaves, cross-ventilation), remain strong. 

In the best strategies, local ecology and culture guide solutions. Several projects propose mimicking Mother Nature to capture her resiliency tactics. Green Water Village and Rhizophora Floating Housing Project replicate mangroves’ ability to reduce waves and hold back the rising tide. “Incorporating natural solutions like mangroves … is a key strategy that supports and strengthens coastal defenses naturally and sustainably,” architect Henry Dominguez, a  competition juror, says. 

Little Lemon is shaped after the emblematic fruit, with a Green Loop outer rim (or rind) that filters water and protects the inner world from storm surges. One of the most striking proposals, Coral, follows the organic patterns of reefs to create an interconnected, resilient hub. Modular homes grow out of a central axis like polyps, hooking onto each other to form circular pods. The homes rotate for maximal wind exposure and ideal orientation to the sun. Like many floating cities, the community lies on a moveable, pontoon-like platform. A rotating structure attached to the pontoon also generates energy for the community. 

Other flotation ideas call for flexible anchors that rise with the water and outrigger structures. Oceanix plans to use biorock, which absorbs minerals from seawater to naturally form a limestone coating that is stronger than concrete, promotes reef growth and attracts marine life.  

A couple Arch Out Loud designers look to reclaim decommissioned vessels. The Make City Not War project suggests adapting a decommissioned French aircraft carrier into an aquatic housing block full of chic, Parisian-style apartments. The airplane storage bay becomes an interior street, and residential docks sprout off the sides at the water level. 

A director’s choice winner, called Oasis Town, suggests removing and relocating sections of the superstructures of decommissioned cruise ships and reoccupying them. The solarium over the bridge could be used as an auditorium, lounges might become apartments and the pools can retain their leisurely purpose. 

Pods are the name of the game for oceanic hubs. Clusters radiate from central points, linking homes but retaining some independence. Gradient Housing Collective leans into communal living, using the Chinese Tulou model, where people live within the walls of an enclosed structure. The team posits the fortified periphery and higher density protect residents during storms. 

Inventiveness is one of the best parts of an ideas competition. An idea can be anything, including something massive in scale and execution. Land To Sea suggests relocating homes from the mainland to a floating barge. Those who own get compensated, and renters get the deed to the house for agreeing to have their residences hoisted from flatbed trucks into the floating community of recycled homes. The original land goes into a trust to be reconverted into wetlands when sea levels rise. 

Neighbors can relocate to the water together to keep their community anchor. “It’s not about just solving technical problems but also looking at how this new type of building can maintain communities and create identity through architecture,” Zook says. 

He points to Little Lakay, where the team proposes a rainbow of homes designed in the Haitian Gingerbread style—the Caribbean spin on Victorian that arose in Haiti in the 1800s. Formerly considered colonialist, Gingerbread became a symbol of rebirth and resilience after many buildings survived the catastrophic 2010 Haiti Earthquake. 

With community at the center, concepts for this brave new aquatic world integrate bike paths, greenhouses, cultural centers, sports courts, and, of course, swimming pools. This is still Florida, after all.