When compliance becomes the enemy of good design

There is a particular comfort in compliance. It comes in the form of certificates, checklists and sign-offs. It reassures clients, satisfies insurers and protects professionals from liability. In an industry that operates under intense scrutiny, that reassurance matters. But somewhere along the way, something subtle has happened. In too many projects, compliance has shifted from being the baseline for good design to becoming its substitute, writes John Ridgeway.

Buildings now emerge wrapped in layers of documented conformity. Every handrail height is measured. Every fire door is catalogued. Every guarding detail is signed off against guidance. On paper, they are safer than ever. Yet anyone who has spent time observing how people actually use buildings knows that paperwork and lived experience do not always align.

The difference between tick-box safety and real-world risk is rarely dramatic. It does not announce itself as negligence or recklessness. It appears instead in small moments - a public square so over-controlled that it feels hostile - a playground stripped of challenge in the name of injury prevention - a residential building where layers of protective measures quietly undermine dignity and comfort.

Compliance, by definition, measures whether a building meets a defined standard. It does not ask whether that standard has been interpreted intelligently. Nor does it account for context in the way an experienced designer might.

Take the common response to perceived liability. Which attempts to eliminate the hazard entirely. If there is a chance someone might trip, level everything. If there is a risk someone might climb, remove footholds. If there is a possibility of falling, increase barriers. Each decision can be justified. Each can be traced back to guidance. Yet collectively, they can produce environments that are joyless, confusing or even counterproductive.

Consider external spaces. A set of generous stone steps, shallow and beautifully proportioned, may be replaced with a long ramp system criss-crossed by handrails and guards because somewhere in the design process, accessibility was interpreted narrowly. The result technically complies. It may even exceed minimum requirements. But it can feel defensive and awkward, as though the space is anticipating failure rather than inviting use.

Removing all obstacles

The same pattern appears in interiors. In the effort to remove all possible points of misuse, designers can end up creating environments that are harder to navigate. Doors become heavier to satisfy acoustic and fire standards. Hardware becomes more complex. Signage multiplies to explain what should have been intuitive. The building protects itself, but at the expense of ease.

None of this is an argument against regulation. Building standards exist for good reason, often written in response to genuine tragedy. The problem arises when compliance is treated as the ceiling rather than the floor - when meeting the letter of the requirement is mistaken for achieving its intent.

Fire safety provides a clear illustration. It is entirely right that buildings must allow safe escape and resist the spread of fire. But genuine fire strategy is about more than distances and door ratings. It is about understanding human behaviour under stress. People do not evacuate in straight lines according to diagrams. They hesitate, return for belongings, follow others, misinterpret alarms. A design that simply satisfies travel distances on a plan may still fail to support intuitive movement in an emergency. Real safety is behavioural as much as technical.

In many cases, over-reliance on tick-box thinking emerges from fear. The fear of litigation. The fear of professional blame. The fear of being the outlier who interpreted guidance differently. Standardisation feels safer than judgement.

Yet good design has always required judgement. It requires balancing competing demands, such as safety, usability, cost, beauty, longevity. When compliance dominates the conversation, other qualities are pushed to the margins. A stair becomes something to enclose and warn against rather than celebrate. A balcony becomes a liability rather than an amenity.

There is also the question of proportionality. Not all risks are equal and not all environments require the same level of control. Designing a primary school playground is different from designing a public art gallery. Yet increasingly, similar defensive measures appear in both, driven by a broad reading of guidance rather than a nuanced understanding of users.

Children, in particular, reveal the tension between compliance and lived experience. An environment stripped of challenge may reduce minor injuries in the short term, but it can also limit opportunities to develop coordination, confidence and risk awareness. The safest possible space on paper is not necessarily the most beneficial one in practice.

Over managed spaces

In adult environments, over-managed spaces can subtly erode autonomy. Excessive signage implies distrust. Over-engineered barriers signal danger even where little exists. The building communicates caution at every turn. Users respond accordingly, sometimes disengaging altogether.

There is also a financial dimension too. Defensive detailing costs money. Additional guarding, more complex systems and duplicated safety measures, all add up. Resources that might have been invested in durability, material quality or environmental performance are diverted into measures that primarily serve to demonstrate compliance.

Ironically, this can undermine long-term safety. A building that feels unloved or uncomfortable is less likely to be cared for. Maintenance may slip. Users may find workarounds that introduce new risks. Wedged fire doors and propped-open gates are often symptoms of designs that complied technically, but failed practically.

The solution is not to discard regulation, but to re-engage with its purpose. Guidance is typically written to establish minimum standards. It cannot anticipate every context or user behaviour. Designers are still required to interpret, to question, to ask whether a particular measure genuinely reduces harm or simply reduces liability.

Early dialogue with regulators can help. When design intent is explained clearly and supported with evidence, alternative approaches are often possible within the framework of compliance. Too often, conservative assumptions are made without conversation, leading to unnecessary constraints.

There is also value in observing buildings in use. Post-occupancy evaluation remains underused in safety discussions. Watching how people move, gather, hesitate and adapt can reveal mismatches between predicted and actual behaviour. These insights are far more instructive than another layer of paperwork.

Ultimately, safety should enhance experience, not diminish it. The most successful environments feel effortless. Routes are legible. Edges are intuitive. Materials communicate how they should be used. Risks that remain are proportionate and understood.

When compliance becomes the enemy of good design, it is usually because process has replaced purpose. Boxes are ticked, but questions go unasked. Standards are met, but intentions are diluted.

Good design does not resist regulation; it interprets it intelligently. It recognises that safety is not achieved solely through accumulation of measures, but through clarity, empathy and proportion. It understands that people are not abstract risks to be managed, but participants in space, capable of judgement when environments are designed with care.

The goal should never be to design buildings that are merely defensible. It should be to design buildings that are genuinely safe - not only in a spreadsheet or an audit trail, but in the lived, messy, human reality of everyday use.