Adapting to a crowded field

BP: Most architecture schools in France are located in Paris and are producing hundreds of new architects each year. This contributes to the high number of architects in the city, but there isn't enough work for all of them. France operates in a highly centralised manner, which affects architecture as well. To navigate this, we seek projects outside Paris, where opportunities are more available. This also drives our approach of remaining flexible and open to different types of work.

DF: This context has shaped our strategy and identity as a practice. Early on, we saw the need to be agile, capable of working on various project scales and types. Sometimes, we take on projects without an obvious need for an architect, like designing furniture or carpentry, but we always approach them with architectural thinking. The density of architects in Paris pushes us to be resourceful, adapting and imagining new commissions.

BP: Paris has a rich historical background, which means strict regulations that limit major transformations. There are only a few empty plots available, so most work revolves around renovation. Our entry into the field followed this pattern—starting with furniture, which connected us to clients renovating homes and flats. This approach helped us establish a network and gain new clients over time.

DF: We are living and working in a city where multiple ideologies overlap. Urban planning regulations, heritage conservation, and environmental concerns all impose strict controls on architectural production. There’s increasing pressure to reuse existing buildings rather than develop untouched land. At the same time, Paris has a high demand for housing, creating tension between development and preservation. As architects, we operate between two scales—small private renovations and large public housing projects, each requiring different references and credentials to access.

Seeing potential where others don’t

BP: I’m from Normandy, from the city of Caen, and I studied architecture in Paris, where I met Deborah.

DF: And I am from Bucharest, Romania. I earned my bachelor’s degree in architecture there before moving to Paris for my master’s. Being outsiders in the Parisian context made things more challenging, as we lacked a personal network for commissions. That’s partly why we work in Normandy as well—it allows us to explore different project typologies, such as larger houses and extensions, whereas in Paris, we mostly handle smaller-scale flats and homes in the outskirts.

We officially started working together in 2020, during COVID. It was a difficult time to launch an office since everything was shut down. Baptiste had previously worked independently, while I had experience in larger firms. When his projects began growing in scale, I joined him full time and decided to fund 127af.

BP: After architecture school, I didn’t want to work for an office. Instead, I used my skills to do something hands-on, starting with furniture-making. I tried to approach the project unconventionally—I told clients they would only pay for construction while I handled the design as I saw fit. This helped me build a client base. My first project was simply fixing a shower, but I treated it as a design opportunity, using zinc sheets inspired by Parisian rooftops. This philosophy still guides us today—always pushing beyond initial expectations.

DF: This illustrates our belief that no project is too small or uninteresting. As architects, our role is to uncover potential and add value, even when a project seems ordinary at first glance.

BP: There are two common ways to start an architecture practice: working in a firm for years and leveraging those references, or starting from scratch and gradually scaling up. We chose the latter. Deborah joined me as my projects expanded, and just as we fully committed, COVID hit, forcing us to adapt quickly.

An economy of means

DF: In private commissions, project opportunities often reflect socio-economic conditions. Without a personal network, we had to take on whatever work we could find. We saw an opportunity to bring architectural value to clients who might not typically work with architects, whether due to budget constraints or cultural perceptions. We evaluate projects based on three criteria: the project itself, the client, and the budget. To accept a project, at least two of these must be strong. It could be an exciting design challenge, a well-funded project allowing us to experiment, or an open-minded client who genuinely seeks our expertise.

BP: One project that fit two key criteria—an open-minded client and an interesting concept—was a glass house extension we built in Normandy. It was an addition to a small stone house, and the client gave us complete creative freedom. Each meeting, we would propose several options, and he always chose the best one. The challenge was the extremely low budget, which forced us to be resourceful. We handled all the design and project management ourselves. Since hiring a full team was out of the question, I worked directly with a steelworker on-site. I guided him through every step—measuring, ordering glass, coordinating laser-cut steel panels, and assembling everything ourselves. The entire construction process was managed between the two of us. It was an economical way to execute the project, though not necessarily reproducible.

DF: Economical for the client—because you weren’t paid to be on-site full-time. The budget was tight, but the project itself and the client made it worthwhile. It’s an example of what we’re willing to do when we believe in a project and its outcome. This approach extends to our broader methodology. During the tender phase, we always request quotes from multiple contractors. If we select an expensive but highly skilled firm, the budget for architectural choices shrinks. Since we’re deeply invested in the quality of our projects, we often opt for the most affordable contractor to maximise what we can achieve. However, this means we end up working twice as hard, spending more time on-site to ensure quality. This experience has forced us to be more precise and aware of construction challenges. Since we don’t always work with highly professional contractors, we have to be twice as vigilant.

BP: It ties back to our background in furniture-making. We think of projects as assembling components, whether at a small or large scale. This focus on materials and details leads us to consider where things come from, whether we can reuse materials, and how to create the most economical yet beautiful connections between them.

DF: We also handle cost management internally from start to finish. Each project is tracked in an evolving Excel file, allowing us to control expenses down to the smallest detail. Given the tight budgets we work with, this meticulous financial oversight is essential. We’re always searching for the most cost-effective way to achieve a high-quality outcome, whether by reusing materials from past projects or sourcing supplies online.

Building trust, step by step

BP: In France, architects are often seen more as permit facilitators than expert designers. Clients frequently come to us with rigid ideas and expect us to execute them rather than contribute creatively. This differs from countries like Switzerland or Belgium, where architects have more influence. To counter this, we always present two versions: their initial idea and our proposal, demonstrating why our approach works better. This way, we don’t just impose solutions—we show them. We also never give design suggestions on the first site visit. Architecture requires drawings and analysis. We study the space before making recommendations, emphasising that our expertise lies in envisioning possibilities beyond what is immediately visible.

DF: Even for small renovations, we create dozens of plan variations. A major part of our work is gaining the client’s trust and proving the value of architectural thinking. It often feels like being a lawyer—building a case to convince clients that there’s a better solution than their original vision.

BP: A current project in Paris exemplifies this. The client wasn’t initially convinced by our proposals, so we started demolitions without a finalised plan. Now, we’re marking layouts directly on the floor with tape, allowing her to walk through different options in real scale. This approach takes more time, but we believe it results in a project truly worth building.

DF: We want to give clients with limited budgets access to thoughtful design. At the same time, we work to conceal the constraints of the process in the final aesthetics. Even when reusing materials, our projects don’t adopt a DIY or rough-reuse aesthetic. Instead, reuse is simply part of making the project viable—it doesn’t define the design language. For example, in a Normandy house renovation, we cut away half of the first floor to bring more light to the ground floor. This intervention wasn’t the cheapest option—it required structural changes—but it was essential for the space and its liveability. To offset the cost, we selected more affordable materials elsewhere. Our projects never look like they were built on a limited budget, even when that is the case. We aim to create spaces that feel generous, not constrained by cost. The challenge is to elevate basic materials and make them exceptional. An architect’s value isn’t necessarily in working with the most expensive materials, but in transforming industrial, mass-produced elements into something meaningful.

BP: This experience is also relevant as we take on larger-scale projects, like social housing. Public housing budgets are always tight, and the skills we’ve developed with private clients—working within financial limits while creating high-quality spaces—translate directly to institutional projects. We’re currently working on a social housing project in a small town in Normandy. The city council inherited a house and a limited budget for its transformation. When they sought quotes for a land surveyor, the cost was twice our entire diagnostic fee. The mayor was shocked, and in the end, we took on the survey ourselves, making the project feasible. By accepting roles beyond traditional architecture, we create our own commissions and secure meaningful projects.

DF: The city simply couldn’t afford a surveyor, so we stepped in. Without that flexibility, the project might never have happened. This adaptability is a survival strategy for a young practice. It also helps us develop valuable skills that will be useful as we take on larger projects in the future.

Cross-disciplinary thinking in action

BP: We believe in working in a cross-disciplinary manner rather than specialising. I run a carpentry workshop; Deborah teaches and is working on a PhD. We take on diverse projects—furniture for clients, flat renovations, public commissions, and urban studies. Recently, we completed an urban research together with a fellow architect, Milena Charbit and the Parisian sanitation workers on what they named the “points noirs” (translated as “black spots”), which are vacant spaces in the urban fabric where residents throughout their old bulky furniture. The Points Noirs study was funded and published by the Pavillon de l’Arsenal and was published in March 2023 (Points Noirs Anomalies récurrentes de propreté, Éditions du Pavillon de l’Arsenal, March 2023). Writing and research are as much a part of our work as designing buildings.

DF: We love that every project presents a new challenge. We never want to do the same thing twice. Each project introduces a different method, a new collaboration, or a unique way of working. We engage with artisans and other professionals, constantly learning from them. The process is more important to us than the final product. 

BP: Every aspect of our practice—material experimentation, research, writing—feeds into our architectural work. Our goal isn’t just to secure commissions but to explore ideas, whether through construction, publishing, or urban studies.