This document does not describe the company’s strategy and does not replace the design guide or the CVP. Its purpose is to establish a way of thinking by which architectural decisions are made.
It is a way of thinking where every project starts with understanding its context, is defined through a concept, and is tested against its own framework — so that we create not just beautiful interiors, but architecture that delivers a unique guest experience and a competitive advantage for the business.
Right now, as I’m writing this manifesto, I’m explaining in a chat to someone from business development why a toilet flush button costs more than the toilet itself. This is part of the profession. Knowledge of the market, materials, ergonomics, and high-level engineering solutions — combined with the ability to communicate clearly through drawings and stay within budget — is the obvious baseline. Without it, you won’t become a professional, and no project will ever be truly buildable.
What I want to talk about is something less obvious — something you probably learned in school (if it was a good one), but rarely use in day-to-day work. This is about a tool that, when used properly, makes any project stronger. I’ll keep it brief and won’t waste your time. But first:
Architecture (and in the context of QSR, this usually means interior design) is not just a wrapper. It is part of the business model, a sales channel, and a tool for building loyalty. If we underestimate design, we are voluntarily giving up a competitive advantage. Without good design, you cannot build an emotional connection with the guest; you cannot stand out among identical chains designed by managers who mistake simplicity for understanding; you cannot create a sense of belonging — the kind that makes people want to buy merchandise and take photos of the space for social media.
We must always assess the dominant emotion of the environment and introduce a contrasting, yet positive one. From noise, we invite into calm; from dullness, into vivid experiences. We do this so that guests associate us with something memorable — an experience, not just a place.
However, a contrasting emotion is only part of the task. Every project should feel like a next step — like an experience the guest has not yet had, expressed through an architecture they would not expect to encounter.
The guest may not process this rationally, but they should feel it: that something different is happening here, something unlike anything they have seen before. This feeling creates interest, engagement, and the desire to return — to see what comes next.
As Jack White once said about writing a song: “If you don’t have drama, invent it.” The same applies to design — trying to create something without constraints is pointless: you’ll be choosing from every possible option at once. These constraints must be found, filtered, and reduced to those that can define a clear framework for the project. Finding these constraints is the core of an architect’s and designer’s work.
As the project develops, the set of constraints will inevitably evolve — new ones will emerge, others will fall away, and their overall configuration may shift entirely. Treat this shift not as a problem, but as a sign you’re moving in the right direction.
An idea is a spark — a thesis, an image, a direction, a mood. It can be abstract or concrete, valuable or useless — anything.
A concept, on the other hand, is an idea developed into a system. It is a structure for making decisions: what is allowed, what is not, and why. It is a principle of organizing space that explains why things look the way they do.
You can start with an idea and end up with nothing — but you cannot arrive at a concept without one.
When architecture ignores its context, the visual experience becomes interchangeable and forgettable. That’s something we simply cannot allow.
Context can take many forms: national, urban, architectural, or even the context of the space itself. A leftover Soviet stone floor or the fact that a space is located in a basement — both are local context. Likewise, context can come from what the building used to be — a prison, a print shop, or something else entirely.
We choose which context to engage with — and we can work with several at once. Whether to align with the context or challenge it is also a decision we have to make. Most importantly, context cannot be ignored. And if it doesn’t offer obvious entry points, they must be created.
Don’t try to mimic local slang or decorative motifs — it’s hard to think of anything more banal. But the problem isn’t just banality. The moment we try to speak the local language, we inevitably produce a watered-down imitation. Our job is to enrich the world around us and offer our own interpretation — to multiply local context by a new experience.
As a friend of mine once said: “Drinkit is like a beautiful mixed-race child born from the meeting of our coffee shop and the place it inhabits.”
References narrow thinking process, while your own design vocabulary expands it. The moment an architect starts relying on “inspirations,” they stop designing and start guessing. What follows is a simulation — sometimes beautiful, but ultimately empty — because it is built on someone else’s logic, not your own.
Meaningful architecture is built from conclusions and decisions, not from the set of images.
The purpose of this method is to help define the conceptual framework of a project. A bit of philosophy combined with practical steps is, in my view, the right formula.
A project is a statement. A statement is text. And that text needs to be written by answering four simple questions — in a couple of sentences each:
Don’t overcomplicate the concept: if its essence can’t be explained in one sentence, it doesn’t work for our coffee shop. Be human — make it easy for the guest to grasp. And remember — a literal statement is almost always weaker than a metaphor.
To create an emotional connection through architecture, you have to turn the environment into an experience, and the background into a memory. The space should come together in the guest’s mind as a coherent story — not fall apart into a collection of decisions. There is no place here for creativity for its own sake or decoration for decoration’s sake — every decision must be driven by a clear conceptual framework.
And if your decisions don’t make you nervous or force you to question them, they’re not bold enough. Have fun, let it make you nervous, live the project.
🤘
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