Very few magazines can claim to have shaped the way an entire profession sees itself. L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui is one of them. Founded in November 1930 by André Bloc — an engineer by training, a sculptor by temperament, and a publisher by sheer force of will — it is the oldest architecture magazine in France, and arguably the most influential architecture journal Europe has produced.
From the very first issue, this was not a modest enterprise. The editorial board included Le Corbusier, Robert Mallet-Stevens, and Auguste Perret — three names that more or less define French modernism. Pierre Vago, a Hungarian architect who joined in the 1930s, built a network of international correspondents that gave the magazine a reach far beyond Paris. It was not just reporting on modern architecture; it was actively part of the movement, organising trips, international meetings, and exhibitions alongside its publications.
Then came the war, and the story turns dark. Bloc was Jewish. Under the Occupation, he could no longer manage the magazine. It was purchased by a man named Georges Massé in 1941, renamed Techniques et Architectures, and handed to a new editor. When France was liberated, Bloc tried to reclaim his publication. He failed. He had to start again from nothing, relaunching L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui in 1945 in direct competition with the magazine that had been taken from him. That he succeeded — that the relaunched version quickly regained international stature — tells you something about both the man and the brand he had built.
After Bloc's death in 1966, the magazine passed to editor Marc Emery, who broadened its scope to include sociology, design, and the arts — disciplines that still run through its pages today. For decades, it remained the reference point for anyone serious about contemporary architecture. Then, in 2007, financial difficulties nearly killed it for good. It was Jean Nouvel — Pritzker Prize laureate, one of the most celebrated architects alive — who stepped in to argue publicly that this pillar of the profession had to survive. Architect François Fontès and entrepreneur Alexandre Allard created a new publishing house, Archipress & Associés, and relaunched the magazine in 2009.
Today, AA — as it is universally known — publishes four thematic issues per year, bilingual in French and English, reaching 50,000 readers in more than fifty countries. The testimonials from the world's leading architects read like a roll call: Nouvel has called it the only French journal to have earned global respect; Frank Gehry praised its clarity about what is real and what is not. These are not blurbs on a dust jacket. They are statements from people who grew up reading it, were influenced by it, and in some cases were first published in it.
What makes L'Architecture d'Aujourd'hui worth paying attention to, beyond its extraordinary history, is the breadth of its vision. This is not a magazine that confines itself to buildings. Recent issues have explored postcolonial urbanism, the politics of landscape, and what happens when architecture meets sociology. It treats architecture as a discipline that touches everything — art, science, philosophy, power — and it expects its readers to care about all of it.
Ninety-five years is an almost absurd lifespan for a magazine. It has survived a global depression, a world war, expropriation, financial collapse, and the slow erosion of print media. That it is still here, still bilingual, still international, still serious, still beautiful, is not just a publishing achievement. It is a statement about what architecture criticism can be when it refuses to die.
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