In this essay, Viktor Damov, architect and co-founder of the research platform Underschool_, traces the expanding processes of gentrification in the central areas of Sofia and their impact on the social and cultural spaces in the city. "The Red List of Sofia Threatened Spaces Unfolded" broadens the scope of his master's thesis "Neighborhood for All People," and, alongside the Women's Market area, it explores several socially significant sites in the context of neoliberal urbanism. The material offers reflections on possible alternatives and the socio-urban values that still hold the potential to lead towards a more just and integrated future for the city.
A City in Flux
Sofia is changing, and so is its center. Slowly, it begins to pulse to the rhythm of exhibitions, Friday night bars, and Saturday brunches. The city transforms into bustling crowds, snippets of foreign speech, and the aroma of artisanal coffee. Its unpolished urban chaos becomes the arena of small businesses and large-scale capital. Property values rise, tourism flourishes, and so too do the prices of döners. Old places gradually disappear, replaced by new ones. Locksmiths, shoemakers, and squatting shops vanish, making way for Airbnbs, trendy cafés, and "Western" street food vendors. The center grows wealthier and livelier. We welcome these changes [1], but are we overlooking something? As we celebrate the economic boom in Sofia’s city center, we observe with curiosity how Athens [2], Barcelona [3], and Berlin [4] grapple with the challenges of their own urban transformations.
Our inability to think beyond familiar patterns of development dooms us to repeat past mistakes. Our failure to closely examine the changes unfolding around us leads to misreadings. Over the past decade, the neoliberal economic order in Sofia has given rise to new neighborhoods devoid of cultural infrastructure, while the city center has become increasingly socially stratified. It’s time to ask ourselves not only what we stand to gain but also what we might lose. More importantly, could it be that what already exists offers a path toward an alternative and more just future?
Sofia Style Neoliberalism
In late September of last year, a new building opened its doors in Sofia: the DOT building. Within a remarkably short time, it participated in a festival, garnered significant media and advertising attention, and won several architectural awards. While Sofia’s elite and artistic circles applauded, and the average "Facebook user" speculated about "the architect’s intent," a few discerning voices raised concerns. To them, the DOT building signaled the first clear attempt to implement textbook gentrification in Sofia. Not only was the rhetoric surrounding the project unhidden, but it was also explicitly articulated by the investor:
"In other places around downtown, things are already happening and involve fewer risks, but that doesn’t appeal to us. The majority of people advised me to undertake the project in a more 'prestigious' neighborhood, but the area around the Women’s Market has an amazing atmosphere and potential for us. There is already an environment of great people and initiatives to join with new momentum. [5]"
Meanwhile, this past summer, I attended Diana Nedeva’s walking tour, Food and Spice of the Women’s Market District [6]. A week prior, I met Diana to explore some of the locations in advance. That’s when I was introduced to Ahmat, the owner of the Victoria store on Tsar Simeon Street. He has been here for 16 years, speaks fluent Bulgarian, and once served as a translator for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Our conversation quickly grew serious, turning to the situation in Palestine. With a mix of sorrow and resigned wisdom, Ahmat reflected on yet another war in his homeland. His store, as I soon learned, is a vital gathering point for the Palestinian community near the market. Customers often linger there, chatting and connecting. While standing in the store, I couldn’t help but think about how, according to certain public narratives, it is people like Ahmat who are framed as the "measured risk" potentially stifling the "promise" of projects like the DOT. Here, two parallel realities come into sharp focus, occupying the same urban geography yet divided by an invisible but definitive boundary. They coexist yet rarely intersect. Ironically, according to classical sociological theory, the city is supposed to be precisely the place for such meetings. As Ivaylo Dichev observes:
"The big city is a place where strangers are gathered. The main lesson it teaches is how to communicate – to cultivate a sense of shared experience, even though most of its inhabitants do not know one another... The city must invent its own topics of conversation, its own meeting places, its own rules for encounters between strangers. [7]"
Zygmunt Bauman adds to this discussion, noting that globalization has led to the diminishment or disappearance of traditional public spaces that once fostered social interaction. These are being replaced by privatized zones devoted to consumption. Neoliberal cities, Bauman argues, produce what he calls “public but non-civil places” [8]. These consumerist spaces, such as shopping malls, are designed to minimize distractions from consumption. The architecture and organization of such spaces actively discourage anything that might disturb the shopper’s experience, repelling “intruders, meddlers, spoilsports and other busybodie." Malls, Bauman contends, are not sites for dialogue or community building. Even when people visit them in groups, the primary activity remains consumption. In these public but non-civil places, encounters with the city’s strangers are neither encouraged nor entirely preventable. Rather, they are managed and subdued, shaped by an underlying intention to prioritize individual comfort and consumption over collective interaction. This is why two other strategies—distancing and assimilation—are often observed in urban spaces outside the controlled and safe geography of the mall. [8]
In recent years, Sofia’s cultural reach has expanded northward. This process, which began in Zone G-14 with events like the KvARTal Festival and business initiatives such as the Jazz Room, Sabale, and &bread [9], has gradually extended to the Women’s Market district. Most notably, the market’s central square now also houses the white cube of the contemporary art gallery Punta [10]. Newly acquired spaces in the city center are becoming saturated with an elitist consumer culture, while simultaneously losing their distinctive character [11]. Historically, the northern part of downtown Sofia has been a hub of subcultural, marginal, multiethnic, and multicultural identities. However, the cultural expansion into this area is beginning to assimilate and dilute these unique traits. Neoliberal urbanism inevitably leads to the social homogenization of inner-city areas and the inflation of urban communities. The city center is gradually being overtaken by social groups with higher economic or/and cultural capital. This shift diminishes the willingness to engage with diversity, closing off opportunities for mutual recognition and understanding. Consequently, the possibility of negotiating a shared vision of the city is lost.
For the new type of consumer, mere consumption is no longer enough. Consumption is increasingly perceived as a superficial activity, and the act of purchasing is now imbued with the need to construct and signal individuality. Products are no longer simply material objects; they are presented as both imaginary narratives (e.g., through narratives of local products) [12] and as part of а total curated environment . Spaces themselves, once mere backdrops for consumption in Bauman’s classical understanding, have become integral to the act of consumption. Uniqueness is sought beyond the confines of the globalized shopping mall. Not only is the product (a coffee, a drink, or a sandwich) consumed, but so is the environment in which it is presented. The material context is meticulously curated to create an overall atmosphere, making the individual experience itself the product. As a result, new consumption venues can assimilate any authentic or unique environment, even when the original authenticity was rooted in countercultural movements. These dual processes—social homogenization and aesthetic assimilation—form the framework of spatial capitalist realism [13]. Within this framework, engagement with the material context is not only allowed but encouraged. However, the social context remains undesirable. Spaces shaped by capitalist realism maintain a degree of elitism and exclusivity, often expressed through niche appeal and prohibitive pricing.
The DOT building exemplifies this logic. Its design reflects a blend of inspiration drawn from the surrounding material context and a public façade that can be tightly sealed against the neighborhood’s social realities. This tension is evident in the building’s timid attempts to engage with the local social fabric, which, ironically, only emphasize the distance between them. For example, we can see the exhibition Sofia 70 Station [14], featuring archival photographs of the neighborhood from the socialist era. The exhibition treated the area as a cultural artifact despite the neighborhood’s limited changes since that time. Held at the Saraeva Gallery (located within DOT), the exhibit demonstrated the building’s safe and controlled engagement with the neighborhood rather than an earnest attempt to co-create a shared narrative.
This critique does not seek to condemn the existence of the DOT or the business initiatives in KvARTal. The new establishments north of downtown successfully create high-quality spaces, skillfully interacting with the local material context while drawing from contemporary Western models of cultural consumption. Their most significant contribution lies in their efforts to interpret the present and the existing, blending local characteristics with global influences. These initiatives offer a fresh public narrative for the city without relying on contrived or ridiculously constructed notions of historicity. Frustration does not stem from the existence of bold, visionary projects striving to shape the future—particularly in the context of a municipality that consistently neglects its responsibilities for that [15]. Instead, it arises from a deeper question: is this the only possible vision? And even more critically: will this vision benefit all the city’s inhabitants, especially in a time of increasing societal fragmentation? Finally, we must ask whether alternative, existing models, often overlooked in public discourse, offer viable paths forward.
Women's Market Case: Constructing the Idea of Socio-Urban Value
At the start of the 21st century, Bulgaria saw the arrival of global consumer spaces. Popular supermarket chains began opening locations, and in 2006, the country welcomed its first shopping mall. This development gradually displaced middle-class Bulgarians from the geography of the Women’s Market, which increasingly became a space serving Sofia’s most underprivileged residents. In 2005, local middle-class citizens initiated a neighborhood committee advocating for the reconstruction and redevelopment of the Women’s Market. The goal was to give the area a modern European appearance—both socially and materially. Over time, the committee garnered support from the City Council, and after an extensive process of voting, planning, and design, redevelopment started in 2013. The project’s outcomes, however, remain divisive a decade later [16]. While the redevelopment did not achieve the anticipated comprehensive gentrification, it also failed to maintain the area’s original social accessibility and vibrancy.
In this context, in 2021, I did a thesis project at UACEG entitled "Neighborhood for All People" [17]. This endeavor critically examined the Women’s Market district and its contemporary urban planning. The project aimed to translate the fieldwork and theoretical contributions of sociologist Nikola Venkov [18] into architectural and urbanist terms. Central to the thesis was the construction of the term "socio-urban value," which sought to articulate the inherent social significance of the neighborhood as it had evolved over time. The project envisioned a future for the area that preserved and enhanced this socio-urban value. What constitutes it? Venkov’s research [18] highlights four key points:
The market provides convenient and egalitarian access to affordable goods for Sofia’s poorest residents.
It offers an accessible pathway for individuals—regardless of social or ethnic background—to begin or engage in trade.
The market fosters vibrant communication among diverse social and ethnic groups, integrating them into the larger social fabric.
All of this occurs within the urban center, reinforcing the notion of the “right to the city.”
The concept of socio-urban value was deliberately constructed to refer to “cultural property,” a legal term signifying the existence, protection, and development of sites with significant cultural value. Cultural property emphasizes unique attributes—they carry historical memory, national identity, and scientific or cultural importance [19]. In contrast, socio-urban value reframes this idea by asserting that spaces can be considered valuable not only for their materiality or history but also for the egalitarian social practices they support. This value manifests tangibly in space yet derives its worth from the lived, everyday activities it enables rather than from its physical or historical significance.
However, recognizing socio-urban value does not necessarily imply a call for its preservation. The protection of cultural property tends to adopt a conservative approach, focusing on the past, traditions, and what should be safeguarded for future generations. This approach often results in a “museum-ification” of urban spaces, transforming them into aesthetic objects for cultural consumption, as Henri Lefebvre observed in the late 1960s: “The city historically constructed is no longer lived and is no longer understood practically. It is only an object of cultural consumption for tourists, for an aestheticism, avid for spectacles and the picturesque. .” [20]. Recognizing socio-urban values does not advocate for the preservation of the traditional city and its associated social practices, nor does it seek to revive them. In this sense, the concept diverges fundamentally from the notion of Oldenburg's "third space" [21].
In contrast, socio-urban value focuses exclusively on the present and future. Unlike cultural property, socio-urban values are inherently dynamic, constantly evolving, and impossible to preserve in a static sense.
Their emergence is unpredictable, shaped by economic and political conditions, and their disappearance is equally uncertain. These values are social artifacts born from the practices of traditional urban life or, alternatively, from tactics of resistance to the contemporary city—whether consciously or not. Socio-urban values prioritize ordinariness over uniqueness or spectacle. Consequently, they require constant development and reevaluation rather than uncritical preservation. They should be seen as a practical tool for achieving the “right to the city” [20].
The Cry of the Oppressed and the Aspiration of the Alienated
After a two-year pause, I revisited the concept of social-urban value upon joining the Center for Social Vision's annual working group. The aim was to identify additional socially significant sites within Sofia's city center, extending beyond the well-known area of the Women's Market. However, it quickly became clear that to conduct the study, the scale of selected sites needed to be reduced. The Women's Market, with its unique scale, has no equivalent in the city center. This limitation presented a series of challenges. Reducing the spatial scale of the sites inevitably diminished their broader public significance. While the idea of valuing the geography of the Women's Market for its social accessibility may seem unconventional, the rationale behind it is evident. The neighborhood serves as a vital space for diverse, often underprivileged communities, providing both a home and a means of integration into society. In this sense, its significance is inherently public. However, when shifting focus from a market or a neighborhood to a single site—such as a social center or a café—it becomes almost impossible to claim the same level of social value.
This shift in scale led to a corresponding shift in focus—from society as a whole to specific communities that directly use these spaces. The newly studied sites emerged as highly valuable to their communities yet insignificant to the broader urban landscape. This transition from societal discourse to community-focused analysis is inherently problematic. Within the context of neoliberal ideology, the term "community" is increasingly employed as a tool for deregulation and market governance [22]. Architectural theorist Jesko Fezer argues that neoliberalism attempts to devolve governance to local communities, effectively pitting them against broader societal structures. This strategy facilitates market expansion while evading responsibility for addressing systemic social problems. Communities are often framed as manageable, measurable units, fragmenting social space and neglecting critical issues such as poverty, discrimination, and environmental justice [22].
Fezer, however, also emphasizes that communities should not necessarily be viewed as the neoliberal antithesis of society. Instead of fragmenting society through the concept of communities, we must seek connections between them. This approach involves examining how the problems faced by individual communities and their solutions relate to more profound and complex societal issues. In this context, small, localized sites can function as an invisibly interconnected network of places addressing shared challenges. These small-scale spaces can be understood as "hidden" social infrastructure within the city center due to their egalitarian nature. Moreover, another critical characteristic of these sites emerged during the research. Each site embodies open, casual communication, a sense of belonging, and the empowerment of its users. These qualities are increasingly vital in the face of rising loneliness and social fragmentation [23]. These spaces elevate communication and the feeling of being part of a community into essential urban values.
Peter Marcuse [24] observes that the need for the "right to the city" impacts two distinct groups. The first group consists of “directly oppressed, those for whom even their most immediate needs are not fulfilled: the homeless, the hungry, the imprisoned, the persecuted on gender, religious, racial grounds” The second group includes the alienated— “those superficially integrated into the system and sharing in its material benefits, but constrained in their opportunities for creative activity, oppressed in their social relationships, guilty perhaps about an undeserved prosperity, unfulfilled in their lives’ hopes” [24]. In this context, while the oppressed require the egalitarian nature of socio-urban values, the alienated seek a sense of belonging and civic empowerment, which these spaces can also provide.
Bridging the needs of the oppressed and the alienated is essential. It underscores that despite their differences, both groups are equally drawn to the same urban spaces. This connection weaves invisible, intricate threads of allyship, forming in the most unexpected way.
Six Places in Sofia City Center
As part of the documentary project The Red List of Sofia Threatened Spaces [25], six spaces recognized as social-urban values were studied. The final product was artistic in nature, with the aim of creating a cultural artifact that communicated the seemingly complex theoretical concept. The list of selected spaces is not exhaustive but rather attempts to describe the diverse forms the concept can take. However, each of these spaces meets four predefined criteria:
The space must be egalitarian (economically accessible).
There must be a specific community that finds it valuable (the community may either be the owner or simply a user).
The place must be open to the city, not exclusive to the community.
It must be located within the city center.
The method is intentionally inclusive, aiming to encompass a diverse range of spaces and communities. The final selection included: Autonomy Factory, Kopriva Independent Community Centre, Vlajkova Cinema, Cultural Club of Veliko Tarnovo, Paris Café, and the Red House Centre for Culture and Debate. I will not dwell on each space individually here, as the documentary project itself does [25]. Instead, I will present a series of general observations and conclusions drawn from the fieldwork.
The sites can be divided into two broad groups: those that are remnants of the traditional city and its social practices (such as Vlajkova Cinema, Cultural Club of Veliko Tarnovo, and Paris Café), and those that can be broadly categorized as civic spaces (including the Red House, Autonomy Factory, and Kopiva). These sites may or may not have an ideological basis. They come from various, even contradictory, cultural, political, and economic traditions. The research method brings together diverse, often intersecting life geographies, which makes the reasons for the existence of these places non-ideological. They reflect the common human drive for connectedness and belonging.
The Vlajkova Cinema most directly demonstrates the existence of socio-urban values. It is the site with the greatest recognized social significance, which can be explained by the fact that it is the last remaining original example of the neighborhood cinema typology. The Vlajkova has a rich, layered history, including several local initiatives aimed at its preservation and development. However, the site holds no 'real value.' The building is not a cultural property, and the neighborhood cinema model is not financially sustainable. The significance of the Vlajkova is mostly symbolic and social, yet this is enough to secure state funding. Thus, its continued existence is most likely assured.
The other two places with older histories (Cultural Club of Veliko Tarnovo and Paris Café) are threatened by the gradual aging of the members of their user communities. What protects these sites the most is the fact that the communities own the buildings they use, thus avoiding rental costs. The Paris Café, in particular, is under threat due to the changing nature of the business environment in a dramatically altered market. The café's inability or unwillingness to adapt to new market conditions makes it uncompetitive. However, this very fact preserves the authenticity of the place and its social value at the neighborhood level. In practice, the café’s survival depends on a small, loyal base of regular customers, which would disappear if the character of the place were to change.
Meanwhile, the Autonomy Factory and the Kopriva Independent Community Centre reflect the gentrification occurring in the city, as well as periodic waves of violence from far-right groups. However, it seems that the greatest threat to the continued existence of these spaces lies once again with the users themselves. As long as the community finds meaning in these spaces and has the energy to sustain them, they will persist. These communities are accustomed to operating with extremely limited financial resources and often tie their existence to ideological life choices. As the history of the Autonomy Factory shows, a place remains a sustainable value for the community and can survive a change of location if necessary. The Red House—the only "extinct" representative on the short list—testifies precisely to the effects of the diminishing energy of its organizers. In the end, this decline was exacerbated by rising financial difficulties in maintaining the center and the state's reluctance to recognize the place as valuable, and therefore to provide funding.
A Parallel Future for Sofia
Every day, we witness how the contemporary neoliberal city and its dominant ideology fail to create accessible, shared spaces. The places where one can build a sense of belonging and become part of a community are steadily diminishing. Spaces where different people can meet, recognize one another, and hear each other’s voices are becoming scarce. We see a city driven by capital [26]—a city whose commercial interests produce dysfunctional new neighborhoods and an increasingly socially segregated center, while its municipal administration remains unwilling to involve its own citizens. The issues are not only financial; they are deeply embedded in our society. City life is raw, accidental, and unintentional. Any attempt to master it leads down a path toward quiet totalitarianism, in that case in capitalist form.
The only chance to look beyond these constraints is to view this late stage of transformation and ask ourselves: What do we have, and what can we lose? What already exists, and what can we learn from it? Through the present, we must think about the future—about what we truly want. We should perceive the spaces highlighted not as museum exhibits but as places that offer an alternative, already available future. These spaces demonstrate not what we lack, but what is already here. The oddities, provocations, and unrealized potentials should be understood as small models for inspiration. They are operational units of urban culture—places for building counter-narratives and fostering everyday solidarity. Together, they create a parallel future for Sofia.
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