So they’re spending €95 million to stick a glass box inside an old factory in Zagreb.
Let’s just start there. Ninety-five million euros. They’re calling it the Paromlin complex redevelopment, a “significant step in revitalising a neglected part of the city’s industrial heritage.” I’m reading Inside the €95 million megaproject in Zagreb taking shape - Croatia Week, and my teeth are starting to ache from the sheer force of the corporate-speak.
This project is the perfect metaphor for how modern cities think they can solve problems: by throwing money at a photogenic building. They’re taking a long-abandoned industrial site—something with actual grit, history, and probably a few ghosts—and giving it a full-body Botox injection. They’re preserving the "original façades" while gutting the inside to make way for a new city library with half a million books, multimedia halls, and "hospitality venues."
It’s like finding a beautiful, worn, first-edition book and deciding the best way to “preserve” it is to rip out the pages and replace them with an iPad. Sure, the cover is still there, but the soul is gone. What are we even doing here? Is a shiny new building with a massive underground car park really the pinnacle of cultural achievement?
The Official Story is a Fantasy
I read the quote from Zagreb’s Deputy Mayor, Luka Korlaet, and I had to read it twice to make sure it wasn't satire. He says these kinds of projects are "catalysts for the renewal of neglected urban areas" and have "strong cultural, social, transport, and economic impacts."
Let me translate that for you. "Catalyst for renewal" means "gentrification engine." It means the cool, affordable-ish area around the old mill will soon be flooded with artisanal coffee shops and condos that nobody who lives there now can afford. "Strong cultural and social impacts" means it'll look great on Instagram for a few years until the novelty wears off. And "economic impacts"? That’s the easiest one—it means a handful of developers and construction firms just got very, very rich.
This is a bad idea. No, 'bad' doesn't cover it—this is a five-alarm dumpster fire of misplaced priorities. They’re building a 50-meter steel chimney just to replicate the original one. A fake chimney. A €95 million project that includes a giant, non-functional prop to complete the aesthetic. It's all just set dressing for a play about a city that cares about culture, but the script is empty.
I can just picture the ribbon-cutting ceremony. The politicians in their hard hats, their faces beaming under the Croatian sun, standing in front of a gleaming glass façade. The sound of their self-congratulatory speeches will echo off the old brick walls, and everyone will applaud because, hey, it’s new. It’s progress. But progress toward what, exactly? A future where every city looks like a generic tech campus? Then again, maybe I'm the crazy one here. Maybe people are just clamoring for a place to park their car before checking out a physical book.
A Library for an Age That Doesn't Read
Let's talk about the centerpiece of this whole operation: a massive new city library. Half a million books. It sounds noble, doesn't it? A temple to knowledge. But let's be real for a second. We're living in an age where information is instantaneous and digital. Building a colossal physical library in 2027 feels less like a forward-thinking investment and more like building the world's most expensive buggy whip factory.
I’m not saying libraries are useless. They’re vital community hubs. But does Zagreb need a €95 million palace for books? Or does it need that money for, I don’t know, affordable housing? Better public transit? Healthcare? Things that tangibly improve the lives of actual citizens instead of just looking good in an architecture magazine.
They’re selling this as a gift to the city, but it feels more like a monument to the people who commissioned it. It’s a legacy project. It's something a politician can point to and say, "I built that." It’s a solution desperately in search of a problem. They have this huge, empty, historic space, and instead of asking what the community truly needs—what might organically grow there—they’ve decided to drop a pre-packaged, committee-approved "cultural center" right in the middle of it. And offcourse, it comes with 330 parking spots, because nothing says "vibrant urban renewal" like making it easier to drive into the city center.
The whole thing just feels hollow. They’re polishing a corpse. The original Paromlin had a purpose, a function. It was part of the city's engine. This new version… what is its purpose? To be a pretty backdrop? A quiet place for tourists to take a break? They say it will be a social and cultural center but I just don't see it. It feels sterile, planned to death, and completely disconnected from the messy, chaotic, beautiful reality of city life. It's a ghost wearing a brand-new suit.
Culture by Committee
So, what's the real story here? It's not about culture, and it sure as hell ain't about revitalizing anything for the average person. This is about vanity. It's about taking something with authentic history and turning it into a sterile, easily digestible tourist attraction. It’s the urban equivalent of an influencer’s perfectly curated selfie—all surface, no substance. Zagreb deserves better than a beautiful, expensive, and ultimately empty promise.
