Building setbacks are quickly becoming one of the more frustrating elements of municipal planning codes in my professional life. That frustration wouldn’t exist if there were a clear, defensible purpose behind these rules. Instead, many setback standards appear arbitrary, imposed simply because that’s how it has “always been.” It’s hard to imagine a weaker justification for a regulation—especially given that the planning profession is relatively young. Most cities are still operating within the first century of the suburban experiment. This blog is continuing from the prior post titled “Are Our City Land Use Standards Really Aligning with Our City’s Goals?”.
Somewhat comically—and somewhat annoyingly—I was recently discussing setbacks on a project intended to support affordable homeownership in the city. During that conversation, a city planner suggested, “Why don’t you just write a blog about it?” I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or honored, so I chose both—and used it as fuel for this post and many more to come.
Back to zoning setbacks. Webster’s Dictionary defines setbacks as
“mandated distances from property lines (front, side, rear) to ensure space between buildings, allow light, and maintain public access.”
This definition overlaps significantly with another land use concept: easements. Webster’s defines easements as “a legal right to use a portion of someone else’s land for a specific purpose, such as utilities, access, or driveways.”
Unlike setbacks, easements serve a clear functional purpose. They allow access for utility providers, governmental entities, neighboring property owners, and the public. In many cases, easements exist on all four sides of a single-family lot, and in rare situations, an entire property may fall within an easement that restricts development.
In practice, easements and setbacks often overlap, with setbacks typically being more restrictive. A residential lot may have a 3-foot utility easement, yet be subject to a 5-foot side setback. While both can require variances, setback variances are more frequently approved, largely because they rely on subjective interpretation rather than quantitative engineering standards.
Historically, setbacks were introduced as a traffic engineering tool. Cities used them as a safeguard in case a street needed future widening. If homes were set back far enough, land acquisition through eminent domain became easier and less disruptive. On this topic, check out this great video that I still refer back to, 15+ years after Strong Towns founder, Chuck Marohn released it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P9BUyWVg1xI
Over time, cities began planning for adequate rights-of-way upfront, and streets have gradually returned to being streets rather than oversized roads. As a result, deep setbacks are less necessary, yet they remain embedded in code. One common justification is driveway and vehicle storage, which assumes front-loaded garages as the default. But why are codes so presumptive? Why must every home have a front garage—or a garage at all?
Today, deeper setbacks are often justified under the banner of “neighborhood harmony.” If surrounding homes sit twenty feet from the street, new homes are required to match that distance. While this may sound reasonable, the real question is why. Why should cities continue to waste valuable land in front of homes? Why limit housing opportunities and affordability in the middle of a housing crisis to preserve outdated post-WWII development standards?
Now, stepping onto my soapbox as a landscape architect:
I hate wasted space.
Land should be functional, not leftover. The days of wasting space are long gone and we all need to do better. Kids aren’t playing in front yards. Dogs aren’t running there. People rarely plant meaningful gardens there. And no—before my government colleagues object—I am not advocating for larger setbacks. The reality is simple: front setback space serves no meaningful purpose. So the real question becomes: what are we actually doing with it?