Practising on the edge

TP: We've noticed a vibrant architectural scene emerging in Paris—and likely across France. A growing number of young practices are taking shape, and we see two main reasons behind this. France has a tradition of small practices compared to the rest of Europe. For example, I worked in the UK for a long time, and in England, they tend to have larger practices that handle big projects. In France, it’s more diffuse—small offices have a voice, especially with public bodies. That’s one of the reasons France is a good place to start your own practice: You can actually be heard. In our case, after we received the 40 Under 40 award, the City of Paris reached out to meet us. So there's definitely a tendency or a desire to give visibility to younger or smaller practices. 

I also think it’s a generational thing. Our generation wants to express itself, and architecture is one way to do that across different fields. Like us, emerging firms are exploring, innovating, and proposing solutions by working on different scales, from furniture to urban planning, even fashion. That diversity of interest draws people to architecture, and that’s one reason why the scene is so lively, not just in Paris, but in France overall. It’s a stimulating environment, though very competitive.

AK: There’s also a renewed connection with rural regions. That’s been the case for us too—even though we’re based in Paris, we’ve had projects in more remote places, like the Cévennes or the outskirts of Toulouse. One interesting figure: I believe there are around 30,000 licensed architects in France (which means one licensed architect for 44 people in France—almost half the European Union average), and 10,000 of them are concentrated in the Île-de-France region. So there's a clear imbalance. Some regions lack architects entirely. Corsica, for example, has faced a shortage for decades. So now, young practices are considering moving to those underserved areas, exploring opportunities where there’s a real need for architecture.

TP: Rural or peripheral areas are one of the main focus for new practices. We’ve had projects there thanks to local connections. Then we worked on-site and made regular visits. It’s interesting because you can explore different ways of building—local methods and materials—which you can then adapt or bring back to other contexts, like Paris. That cross-learning is really valuable. I feel like our practice has one foot in Paris and one foot in the regional landscape. There’s a new appreciation for local know-how and regional architecture.

Seeds in the jungle

AK: We began studying architecture at the same time. Both of us trained as architects and engineers, attending two different schools simultaneously—one for architecture, one for engineering. So we’ve known each other since we were just discovering what architecture really means. That’s where our story began. After that, we each followed our own paths—Erasmus, internships, work experiences—but we always stayed in touch.

TP: Even though we took different routes after graduation, we remained connected and eventually decided to team up. It really started during a trip to Morocco in 2020—just before the pandemic. We both reached a point in our careers where we wanted to start something new. I had spent 11 years at Rogers—six in London, then helped open the Paris office in 2020 with a colleague, right before COVID hit.

AK: Around that time, I had worked for a few large Parisian firms. Then I took a break to study urban governance at SciencesPo in Paris. While Theo was coming back to Paris to open Rogers’ office, it was a good moment for us to reconnect and reflect on how we saw architecture.

TP: Then came an eco-lodge project in Costa Rica, brought to us by a friend. We thought, why not give it a try? It was an amazing site, on a jungle slope. The program was strong, the context was interesting, so we said yes.

AK: It actually started during the pandemic, so we couldn’t be on-site. Travel restrictions made it impossible. We had to fully rely on digital tools, which wasn’t our initial plan. We considered backing out, but decided instead to make the best of it. It was complicated—our local partners weren’t very engaged, and there was a cultural gap around the architectural design. 

TP: That challenge really shaped our collaboration. We had to focus on what truly mattered in the project. We couldn’t control everything, so we had to decide what was essential to preserve: The overall big picture, but also some construction and assembly details. That approach of being efficient and intentional became part of our working method.

AK: That experience forced us to adapt our design process. How can we build there? How can we communicate our ideas effectively? The site was a 20-metre slope, surrounded by jungle, but with a clearing where no trees had to be cut—respecting Costa Rica’s environmental laws. We also had to consider water flow and topography. So most of the dialogue was with a technical team. It was a rich experience, designing remotely with people on the ground.

TP: It’s a funny story now, but it really was the beginning of our collaboration. For me, after 11 years at a big office, working on large-scale projects, it felt like a natural shift. Eventually, I realised I wanted more control over my own production. It was sometimes frustrating, in a large office, to be responsible without having the final say on what was designed or created. 

AK: Back then, I already had the same desire to work independently. I didn’t want to go back into a big firm with its established ways of doing things. I wanted more freedom to explore. So in 2020, we were both ready—at the same point, sharing the same mindset—to step out of the big studio model and do things differently.

Practice in motion

AK: Our backgrounds aren’t strictly architectural—and that influences how we approach our work. It’s not just that we experiment—we like to experiment. I think it also comes from our curiosity, from not wanting to see architecture as a closed field. We’ve never done fashion design, for example, but I have worked for a decade closely with the art and fashion press, so I have strong ties to that world. Theo, on his side, isn’t just an architect and engineer—he’s also a comedian and does theatre. So for us, architecture isn’t something that boxes us in. We believe in creating bonds. We’re a young practice, but more than that, we want to keep experimenting, stay open, and merge with other fields. 

We’re working across multiple scales. The smallest is furniture—we’ve just started a line and are in early talks with furniture editors. Then there’s the installation scale. One of our latest proposals was for Concéntrico, an architecture festival in Logroño. We explored using construction materials—like concrete casting beams—not as temporary tools but as the structure itself, embracing their ephemeral nature. Though our proposal wasn’t selected, it was a concept we were eager to test.

On a slightly larger scale, we also worked on a project called Ecolodge, which is composed of small units—tiny houses—clustered to form a larger system. It’s an in-between scale: individual objects forming a collective. Then there's housing. One recent project is a new house in Rabat, on a difficult empty plot in a mid-20th-century neighbourhood. Given the seismic regulations, a concrete frame was unavoidable, but we wanted to offer something different—still grounded in the Moroccan context. So we revisited traditional elements like riads and atriums with a contemporary, bioclimatic approach to ensure comfortable temperatures throughout the year.

We also value working with existing structures, especially in France. One rural project involved converting an 18th-century water mill and a tall stone building—originally used to breed silkworms—into artist residences. The silkworm tower had this fascinating natural ventilation system, and we wanted to respect and preserve it, seeing human comfort as parallel to the needs of silkworms. We added a lightweight, cocoon-like structure that could be removed if the building ever becomes officially listed. At the urban scale, there’s another example: a house near Toulouse—an eclectic blend of 19th-century stone and brick, a 1960s addition, and a 1990s veranda. We had to unify three distinct periods within a protected perimeter and add a new extension. 

TP: There’s also the bigger scale—like a competition in Morocco we entered in 2025 for a resort. We didn’t win but got an honourable mention, placing in the top ten. It was a beautiful site in northern Morocco, by a lake, with a sloping terrain. This range of scales and contexts reflects our commitment to exploring architecture’s diverse possibilities and responding thoughtfully to each project’s unique challenges.

Balanced systems

AK: One of the core ideas in our practice is hybridisation. We’re curious, we travel a lot, we’ve experienced different backgrounds, and we like testing things from one context in another. 

TP: What we truly enjoy—and often discuss—is that initial phase of a project. The beginning is a moment of expansive brainstorming, and the more original, the better. That process triggers so many ideas for us. And also, because of our engineering background, we’re very drawn to systems and structures. Even at small scales, such as building a structure using just one type of beam, the way you arrange and connect those beams creates a cohesive system. In our Toulouse project, for example, we applied the same idea—how do you reconcile four distinct constructions into a logical system in a (re)unified whole. Similarly, in our Morocco project, our approach to structure was very deliberate, recognising that often the structure itself defines the form. We think of structure and envelope as two systems that inform each other. That relationship defines the form—rather than just a purely plastic or formal approach.

AK: I don't think we could ever develop a signature style, like always using the same material, because we don’t deal with the same context every time. We don’t build in Toulouse the way we build in Rabat, or in Costa Rica. In the French architecture scene, there’s a new generation reconnecting with local know-how—and we really appreciate that. We explore that too. But at the same time, there's this big focus on sustainability, which is essential—it's a given, a starting point. We don’t question if sustainability matters. But we do question how it risks leading to a kind of standardised architecture. Should a sustainable wooden building in Bordeaux be the same as one in Paris? That’s something we’re wary of.

We also try to be pragmatic. For example, in the Rabat family house: with or without us, the house would have been built. The seismic regulations mandated a concrete frame. So, do we step away? No. The question became, “Okay, given this constraint, how can we improve the result?” If it’s going to be concrete, let’s assume it. Let’s be honest and keep it visible. Then let’s focus on comfort—on reducing the need for air conditioning or heating by applying bioclimatic principles. For us, this means embracing a design approach that’s deeply rooted in context—where form, structure, and sustainability come together naturally, rather than following rigid formulas.

Evolving work culture

TP: One other key part of our practice is teaching. We both teach construction courses—it’s technical, but we really enjoy it. We’ve been doing it since 2020, and it’s important to us to engage with students. It triggers new questions and forces us to reflect on our own practice. And it’s also refreshing. I don’t feel old at all, but when I talk with these very young students, their way of thinking is completely different—and it’s enriching. I spent time in big offices working crazy hours, doing all-nighters, sometimes even unpaid. That was just how things were. But this new generation—they won’t accept that. They’ll say, “Sorry, I have other things to do.” And I think that’s a good thing. They want to carve their own paths, learn what they can, and then go do their own thing.

AK: It’s a win-win. And it’s healthier. We both agree that the way things used to work—long hours, poor communication—wasn’t healthy. Hopefully, that era is fading, and something better is emerging.

TP: That’s something we’ve been thinking about a lot—how do you value your time in architecture? It’s a really hard question. People often think, “Well, it’s just ideas, so it doesn’t cost anything.” It’s a constant battle to defend your fees, to defend this intellectual output and experience as a real value.

AK: Especially with private clients, who may not understand how even a small change can mean a big challenge. But being transparent helps. Whether a project is successful or not, you should be clear about the process, the decisions, and the value behind them.