Commercial gentrification in Arnhem and Vienna

Abstract

Gentrification is produced and manifested in very diverse ways at different locations and scales. As argued earlier in CITY (Loftus, Alex. 2018. “Planetary Concerns.” CITY: Analysis of Urban Trends, Culture, Theory, Policy, Action 22 (1): 88–95), this ‘planetary’ aspect of gentrification should be seen as an abstract ‘point of arrival’, grounded in the analysis of real-concrete practices that highlight the production of differentiation. Our study aims to contribute to this debate by focusing on mechanisms and resistances behind the local enactment of ‘creative-city’ policies. Thus, our two-city study seeks to highlight local differences through the engagement with ideas, framing and practices associated with commercial gentrification. By deploying Callon’s concepts of ‘diagrams’, ‘framing’ and ‘overflowing’, we compare how ideas and practices of commercial revitalisation are enacted, stabilised and resisted in two Western European neighbourhoods—Klarendal in Arnhem, The Netherlands, and Reindorf in Vienna, Austria. The study traces how, through local policy and neighbourhood practices, the circulation and translation of global ‘creative entrepreneurship’ imaginaries result in different framings of the ‘creative entrepreneur’, with the capacity to somewhat abate the negative social implications of ‘creative city’ policies. Yet, while in Reindorf this mutation is based on a broader affinity with a social-market perspective, in Klarendal it merely comes from everyday resistance by entrepreneurs and neighbourhood actors. There is still considerable need, accordingly, for political change at municipal level.

Keywords:

• commercial gentrification
• planetary gentrification
• creative entrepreneurship
• agencement
• framing

Introduction

The notion that gentrification has gone ‘global’ has been around since the early 2000s. Early works characterised gentrification as a (colonial and neoliberal) global-urban strategy in which gentrification policies travel from the West to other places (Smith 2002; Atkinson and Bridge 2004). However, authors like Lees (2012) and Lees, Shin, and López-Morales (2015, 2016) expressed scepticism about this diffusionist logic and the idea that a single universal gentrification process could be replicated elsewhere. Using the notion of plural ‘global’ or ‘planetary’ gentrifications they highlight how spatial manifestations (and variations), while subjected to global pressures, drivers and circulations, stem from local struggles between players, processes and contexts. More concretely, enactments of gentrification ensue from proliferating global-local ‘circuits of real estate capital and entrepreneurial urban policies’ in which the role of the state is central (Shin 2019, 17). Hence, in line with Loftus (2018), as far as we want to speak of ‘planetary’ gentrification, this should be seen as an abstract ‘point of arrival’, rather than as a primary driver or ‘totalising’ concept. It is important, in particular, to recognise the (re-)production of difference in gentrification processes (cf. Waley 2016; Maloutas 2018; Ghertner 2015).

The aim of this paper is to speak to this debate on how gentrification processes (in plural) play out locally in two neighbourhoods: Klarendal in Arnhem, the Netherlands, and Reindorf in Vienna, Austria. Thematically, we focus on commercial gentrification induced by policy practice, exploring what Shin (2019, 18) described as ‘attending to the tension between how gentrification can generically be defined and how gentrification reflects local conditions and experiences’. Commercial gentrification entails the perceived and involuntary displacement of locally anchored businesses by an invasion of ‘hipster’ activities and/or an absorption in homogenised ‘commercial’ landscapes (Zukin et al. 2009; Hubbard 2016; Sakızlıoğlu and Lees 2020). Commercial gentrification is often supported by a creative city policy circuit functioning as a neoliberal ‘toolkit of urban revitalization’ (Zukin, Kasinitz, and Chen 2016, 20). Under the veil of nurturing bohemian lifestyles, hipsterism and neighbourhood ‘revival’, the global diffusion of these ‘creative city policies’ are perceived as cheap and easy measures by local governments to create new ‘spatial fixes’ for value creation, improving the socio-economic status and image of neighbourhoods (Peck 2005, 754). Value creation through a creativity-place nexus plays an important role in the joint pursuit of ‘state’ and ‘market’ for new, competitiveness-based imaginaries, strategies and tactics of capital accumulation (Anderson 2016; Barry 2001).

However, in studying the local manifestations and impacts of such pursuits, one faces the trap of what Jacobs (2012, 419) calls a ubiquitous observation of ‘neoliberal extension’. By drawing on assemblage theory we focus on the ‘enactment’ of creative city policies which brings the circulation and substantiation of such policies down to the level of concrete, relational practices. To examine the subtle entanglement of our sites in global circuits of neighbourhood-oriented ‘creative-economy policies’, as well as of capital, we start the analysis at our local sites (Massey 2005) and draw on work by Callon and colleagues (Çalışkan and Callon 2009, 2010; Muniesa, Millo, and Callon 2007). In particular, our study examines the way how policy translation and scripting lead to attempts to ‘frame’ entrepreneurial activity and shape new markets in locally mediated ways. Our focus on enactment emphasises the active role of entrepreneurs in everyday policy making, including the ways entrepreneurs, following their own beliefs and interests, resist and mutate these policies. This sides with Ong’s (2011, 10) position that the ‘starting point of analysis is thus not how singular principles define a city environment, but rather the array of problem-solving and spatializing practices that are in play in shaping an urban field’.

Our focus also helps to disclose the kind and intensity of social harm caused by gentrification policies and practices. Often, commercial gentrification does not prompt a ‘brute’ displacement of marginal groups, yet it entails the displacement of ‘particular images, peoples and behaviours’, especially of certain types of entrepreneurs, in the process of place-making (Catungal, Leslie, and Hii 2009, 1110). Hence, infusing neighbourhoods with commercially oriented creativity instigates a more subtle process in which the social and cultural fabric of a neighbourhood is tuned towards state and commercial interests (Zukin et al. 2009; Wang 2011; Hubbard 2016; Sakızlıoğlu and Lees 2020). Attention for subtleties, both in manifestations and resistance, helps us to ‘slow down conclusions on gentrification’s actual presence or absence’ (De Haan 2018, 27). This can also help reveal how resistance contributes to producing ‘failed examples and limited cases where visible signs of gentrification—say, artists’ studios, or espresso bars—do not expand in scope and scale to change a neighbourhood’s reputation’ (Zukin 2016, 203).

The paper unfolds as follows. After explaining our conceptual framework, the cases of Klarendal and Reindorf will be discussed in four steps: neighbourhood introduction, the arrival of creativity concepts, the framing and enacting of entrepreneurship, and ensuing instability. The conclusion discusses our observations of differences, contestations and failures and elaborates on what this actually means for further enhancing ‘planetary’ perspectives.

Approach

Our study of enactment of entrepreneurial activity infused by creative-policy approaches draws on three concepts elaborated by Callon and colleagues, namely ‘diagrams’, ‘framing’ and ‘overflowing’.

Diagrams constitute networks in the Foucauldian sense, with a power centre which, through discursive and material elements, helps to forge and frame subjects and their relationship with the world (Groves 2017). Following Callon (2008), a diagram could be seen as a kind of ‘meta-agencement’, able to envelop societal processes in a large domain during a longer period. Rather than reductions of existing orders, diagrams present forceful ‘structured continuities’ (Thrift 2011, 8) configurations shaping and directing spaces of (im)possibility. In assemblage thinking, diagrams compare with ‘abstract machines’, operating by matter and function, enabling the concrete production of physical substance and form (Deleuze and Guattari 1988). Through diagrams, we can grasp the abstraction of planetary gentrification as a ‘point of arrival’ rather than ‘totalising theory’, rooted in the ‘real-concrete’ and ‘praxis of everyday life’ (Loftus 2018, 92–93).

Framing is the way agency becomes enacted in social practices. Framing refers to the equipping of, and aiding agents in such a way that they think and act in certain premeditated ways. Framing endows the individual agents with intentions, calculation, reflection, projects, and imagination, in which conduct is produced amongst a myriad of aligning material and discursive artefacts. In doing so, framing shapes simultaneously an agent as an individual subject, like an entrepreneur, inhabitant or consumer, and the agent’s performativity. For diagrams to work, framing is key to enacting individual agency. Especially in the case of markets, which rely so much on the measured conduct of individually operating subjects, framing presents a crucial strategy (Callon 1998).

Framing, however, meets distortion and resistance—what Callon (1998) calls ‘overflowing’. Competitiveness-based imaginaries, strategies and tactics of ‘creative-city policies’ may be distorted and framed differently by local state actors seeking to adhere to local contexts. In line with recent foci on resistance in gentrification studies, such institution-based, preventive measures against displacement, e.g. tenant protection, commercial spaces dedicated to local businesses or alternative planning tools, can be interpreted as organised, ‘political’ visible forms of resistance (Annunziata and Rivas-Alonso 2018, 397). Counter-framing can be also voiced through ‘organised’ social-movements, while recent theorisations of resistance in gentrification studies suggest to focus also on “non-politicized, covert, unintentional, informal, and deliberately invisible practices of everyday life” (Annunziata and Rivas-Alonso 2018, 408). As such, entrepreneurs prove unable (also due to material conditions) and unwilling to act as well-disciplined calculative agents as framed by competitive, neo-liberal gospels of creative entrepreneurship. Notably with creative-policy approaches, other kinds of social activity (e.g. charity, volunteering, community work) may overflow in such a way that they give rise to new forms and rounds of framing (Callon and Rabeharisoa 2008).

Through the lens of diagrams, framing and overflowing, this paper will study the enactment of creative-industry entrepreneurs in two gentrifying neighbourhoods, Klarendal in Arnhem, The Netherlands, and Reindorf in Vienna, Austria. Within the range of neighbourhoods accessible to the researchers for intensive, long-term fieldwork, these neighbourhoods presented the best (most extreme) cases of where serious deprivation was met by major policy attempts to develop creative-economic strategies and induce creativity based commercial gentrification. Each case will focus on how creative-industry entrepreneurship came to the areas, how entrepreneurs have been framed, and how their agencement has wavered between overflowing and stability. The research draws on a large number of detailed observations (street and retail life, community and business events), interviews and readings of policy and media documents conducted between 2014 and 2016. We could thus cover the main transitional periods in both neighbourhoods (early 1990s–half 2010s). Interviews (43 in Klarendal, 38 in Vienna) were held with policy makers, civic associations and entrepreneurs directly involved in shaping creative-industry entrepreneurship, and with residents, journalists and social workers (see Table 1 for an overview of the types of actors quoted in this paper). In all our work, gentrification did not feature as a given, operationalised concept, but rather a point of departure and debate enabling us, through close engagement with our cases. Accordingly, our cases do not constitute a premeditated comparison. Rather, they present cases or singularities with the capacity “to inform and transform” (Robinson 2016, 195). While our findings often lend themselves for a side-by-side account, including comparison, each case also tells its own, individual story. Before we embark on the case studies, we will first discuss the notions of diagrams and framing.

Table 1: Interview list, K = Klarendal, R = Reindorf. All interviews took place between 08/2014 and 10/2016

K1 Programme manager neighbourhood approach	R1 Design entrepreneur`, co-leader of Einfach15
K2 Local politician	R2 Employee of the local Urban Renewal Office
K3 SLAK employee	R3 Public servant
K4 ‘Venerable’ local artist	R4 Consultant
K5 Former employee Volkshuisvesting	R5 Vienna Business Agency employee
K6 Artistic social scout and project developer	R6 Restaurant owner
K7 Council staff member	R7 Creative retail entrepreneur
K8 Café owner	R8 Creative retail entrepreneur
K9 ‘Old’ resident	R9 Journalist
K10 Fashion entrepreneur	R10 Restaurant owner
K11 Fashion entrepreneur	R11 Café owner
K12 Fashion entrepreneur	R12 Café owner
K13 Fashion entrepreneur	R13 Social Worker
K14 Director of Housing Corporation

Diagrams

The notion of diagram sheds light on how markets have proliferated as the fundamental cornerstone of ‘advanced’ capitalist societies. Drawing on Barry (2001), Callon makes a distinction between two core diagrams: disciplinary and interactive. The disciplinary diagram presents what can be considered the main thrust of neoliberalisation, the shaping, incentivising and controlling of competitive ‘market’ behaviour, through an intertwining of state and market institutions (cf. Moreno and Shin 2018). The disciplinary diagram trumpets individual competitiveness and competitive performance as the main characteristic of individual achievement. It venerates a form of the ‘market freedom’ urging individuals to develop and grow their capacities as they see fit, yet within a far-reaching state ambition to instil competitiveness at the level of individuals, clusters and territories. The interactive diagram, on the other hand, stresses the way individuals may forge other types of relationships, acting collectively and strategically, echoing the way neoliberal agendas also promote certain forms of collaboration and networking. In Callon’s (2008, 39) words, this draws on ‘interactive individual agency’ performing in a resourceful, rather than disciplinary manner:

The interactive diagram is a socio-technical agencement configured in such a way that at the center of the collective action we find an individual who is capable of developing projects and is endowed with a will to accomplish them, and who holds herself (because she is held) responsible for her acts and their effects. (Callon 2008, 39)

As part of the rise of advanced, financialised capitalism, these diagrams have tended to replace an older arrangement, that of the ‘social market’ (Cox 1996; Grabher 2006). The ‘social market’ diagram is less disciplinary, rooted in historical processes of market development, foregrounding the social side of producing, consuming, transacting, and the need for human-scale, heterogeneous market-places, in line with Geertz (1992) work on the ‘Bazaar economy’. Rather than for accumulation, goods and services are produced in response to individuals’ interests and demands, as well as community needs for providing livelihoods for its members. The ‘social market’ diagram thus comprises ideas, scripts and devices of local-economic development somewhat detached from the global wheels and circuits of capital accumulation. It also allows for more individual beliefs and affects which are suppressed in the more rational-calculative disciplinary and interactive diagrams.

While often more as an undercurrent than mainstream image, the ‘social market’ diagram has played an important role in reviving local socio-economic vitally. It underpins, following O’Connor (2015), the rise of ‘creative’ districts and industries emerging from the 1980s onwards, in which market formation was grafted onto local social and cultural features and considerations. Acting as core intermediaries within their communities, creative-industry entrepreneurs often took the role of ‘social workers’ setting up entrepreneurial and outreach activities to facilitate and join-up neighbourhood projects, as well as of ‘political mediators’ supporting community networks and business associations. It is only when ‘creative’ cities and districts became part of mainstream economic and urban policy, that more neoliberal modes of diagrams emerged. This incurred a gradual shift in mediators from indigenous entrepreneurs to professional consultants, who adopted a much more instrumental and commercial view on creativity. As a result, creative industries and districts turned into popular targets for the mobilisation of the disciplinary and, even more, interactive diagrams.

Framing

The key achievement of framing in the context of markets is the shaping of conduct disentangled from the manifold social-cultural values accompanying the bargaining and exchange of goods and services in non-commercial settings (Holm 2007). In contrast to the sociological perspectives on markets (Swedberg 1994), Callon stresses how markets become disembedded from social networks and complexities, and uprooted from local contexts and practices. This does not mean that markets are constructs emerging from ideological programmes, fully at the mercy of the latest theoretical and normative whims on ideal or ‘perfect’ markets, as suggested by Miller (2002). Markets remain social in the sense that agency is enacted through market-directed social-institutional practices: ‘The market is no longer that cold, implacable and impersonal monster which imposes its laws and procedures while extending them even further. It is a many-sided, diversified, evolving device which the social sciences as well as the actors contribute to reconfigure’ (Callon 1991, 55). Such an ‘agencement’ perspective explains how, while emanating from only a few diagrams, markets can show such variation in structuration, behaviour and performance.

Callon (2008) makes a distinction between two basic modes of framing, to which we add a third one. The first is to provide market actors with instruments, tools and rules helping and disciplining them to overcome deficiencies they experience in undertaking market operations (assessing qualities and prices, negotiating, contracting, etc). Such means, which Callon calls ‘prosthetics’, include all kinds of training in the use of market, management and bookkeeping tools, the provision of low-priced or subsidised workspace, marketing capacities and channels, etc. Prosthetics enable market subjects to act ‘competently’ as individual entrepreneurs and consumers. The second mode is called ‘habilitation’. Habilitation involves the capacitating of subjects in such a way that they can reshape the environment in which they operate. In contrast to the individual orientation of prosthetics, habilitation occurs more interactively and collectively, through cooperation with others and modifying common practices and conventions guiding market operations. Habilitation supports the formation of business clusters, districts, or networks joining related firms and other actors (research centres, branch organisations), which act as a whole in a wider market context. Rather than just conforming to general market standards and exigencies, habilitation is a form of niche strategy, allowing market subjects to work and join forces in a self-adapted environment. Habilitation is fostered by education, competences and capacities enabling actors to acquire necessary environmental attitudes and resources.

Prosthetics and habilitation are two strategies employed, in particular, in practices geared to the nurturing of market subjects, such as education, training, advisory work and policy-making. They broadly match the disciplinary and interactive diagrams discussed above. Prosthetics serve to equip agents to be fully receptive and sensitive to market signals, notably prices and qualities, to adhere to market rules and to be competent in practices of competition, negotiation, investing, and value capture and protection. Habilitation motivates agents to understand the wider market ecology, to work with others to forge new relations, and to take responsibility for joint projects and strategies. With the rise of the ‘network economy’ (Callon 2008), which puts a stronger reward on collaboration notably in the field of innovation and supply chain management, a gradual shift can be observed from prosthetics to habilitation. In Callon’s (2008, 46) own prosaic language, there has been a move away from adjusting agents ‘with the help of prostheses, to finally be self-entrepreneurial individual agents’. Prosthetics have been superseded by flexible and robust socio-technical agencements ‘that allow different individuals to fit into the interactive rationale characterizing neoliberal individual agency’ (Callon 2008, 46). Crucially, the shift towards habilitation enables a closer nexus between neoliberal market formation driven by state-market alliances and neighbourhood policies based on networking and economisation. How close this nexus has become presents a key point of our analysis.

The third mode of framing added here is based on resistance to neoliberal framing, based on the ‘social market’ diagram. The crux of such ‘social market’ framing is that subjects, while embracing some economisation and market formation, engage in a collective process of exploration, debate and governance regarding possible and desirable forms of labour organisation and material exchange (cf. Geertz 1992). Framing shares with ‘habilitation’ an emphasis on interactivity and niche building. However, rather than grafted onto the neoliberal interactive rationale featuring ‘clustered’ competitiveness, social-market framing is geared towards social and cultural identities, shared values and solidarity. Regarding creative industries, such framing chimes with the way O’Connor (2015, 380) describes the role of artist entrepreneurs in upcoming, progressive ‘creative’ neighbourhoods: ‘The new cultural intermediaries actively asserted the importance of the cultural economy and their role within it. They demanded an urban milieu that would reflect and enhance this role, and bring to bear the values of culture on these new local economies.’ Artists, moreover, often liaise with social movements and set of ideas opposing culture-led regeneration and gentrification, and resisting the rolling-out of the neo-liberal creative city, yet the work of artists within this scheme may also be co-opted and accommodated by urban and neighbourhood branding efforts (Hollands 2019). Therefore, the critical question is how far such assertive attitudes could affect market formation in such a way that it helps to abate the harmful impact of commercial gentrification, limiting displacement pressures or if it rather puts displacement pressures on certain types of entrepreneurs (Catungal, Leslie, and Hii 2009).

Introducing Klarendal and Reindorf

Our study focuses on two cases. Klarendal is an old neighbourhood in the inner-city of Arnhem established in the late nineteenth century to host workers for the newly emerging industries. Like many areas of its kind, in the 1960s and 1970s Klarendal changed from a lively working-class area full of social and commercial activity to a crisis area with dilapidated housing, a segregated and largely poor population, disappearance of local business and retail, high unemployment, sex work and crime. The area became the target of intensive urban renewal projects from 1990 onwards. The most spectacular project has been moving the old post office from the city centre to Klarendal, to host Grand Café ‘Goed Proeven’. After 2008, around this location, a ‘Fashion Quarter’ emerged (Modekwartier Klarendal). This helped to restore business life in the neighbourhood, and also to boost its reputation. In the words of a municipality councillor and staff member: ‘The Fashion Quarter made Klarendal ‘bon ton’’ [K2] and ‘that Fashion Quarter has made Klarendal also rock solid’ [K1]. Consequently, Klarendal has experienced some commercial gentrification through a modest influx of hipster bars, cafés and restaurants (Gourzis 2014), without prompting residential gentrification (so far).

Reindorf presents a neighbourhood located in the southern part of the 15th Viennese district. A small, narrow and quiet shopping street named Reindorfgasse forms the historical core of Reindorf. In the 1930s, lots of small shops, restaurants, bars and craftsmen of Reindorfgasse served the vibrant working-class neighbourhood. Similar to Klarendal, many shops closed during the 1970s and 1980s due to motorisation and relocation of industrial sites. Only a handful of old-established Viennese cafés and shops remained until today. A strong influx of immigrant groups helped some of the vacant plots to be filled by ethnic restaurants and shops. Like Klarendal, sex work and drug-dealing contributed to the district and neighbourhood’s bad reputation. Reindorf witnessed a gradual change towards a more positive image with the introduction of subsidised housing renovation policies in 2004, and a ban on sex work on streets in 2010. Mandatory caps on rent increases in subsidised renovation of private housing has limited displacement and residential gentrification so far. Yet, in and around Reindorfgasse, vacant commercial premises turned into creative-industry shops, offices, galleries and ateliers, alongside ‘established’ Viennese and ethnic restaurants. This vibrant mix is now supporting an image of the neighbourhood as being a ‘viable place’ and new ‘creative mecca’ in Vienna (Kogelnik 2015).

Following our research framework, Klarendal and Reindorf will be analysed in three steps: (1) the infusion of creative-industry entrepreneurship through enacting gentrification; (2) the role of prosthetic and habilitation policies in framing and enacting local agency and (3) studying overflowing and the ongoing attempts to regain stability in view of the predominant diagrams and frames.

How ‘creativity’ came to Klarendal and Reindorf

Both our neighbourhoods tell a story about how circulation and translation of urban creativity imaginaries and scripts engendered the establishment of ‘creative districts’, although with different protagonists. Klarendal’s Modekwartier (Fashion Quarter) was initiated and shaped primarily by a wide group of professional actors. According to Dutch saying: ‘success knows many fathers’, but this project knows “an extreme number of fathers” [K2]. In Reindorf, it was a neighbourhood-based network of entrepreneurs that sought to improve local economic strength and community life. That led to step-by-step improvements with some support from policy actors, rather ‘small parts worked together at the right time; there was no big picture from the beginning on’ [R1].

While manifesting different settings and trajectories, what both neighbourhoods share is the key role played by artists. One of Klarendal’s historic ‘fathers’ is SLAK,¹ an organisation established in 1965 to provide working and living space for Arnhem’s artists. Benefiting, perhaps ironically, from the area’s blight, Klarendal was one of SLAK’s core working areas. At its height in the 1980s, SLAK owned more than 50 plots [K3]. While seen as ‘strange folk’ [K4] and ‘just messing about in a cheap way’ [K6], Klarendal residents generally welcomed the artists. Living and working in the area, artists made a substantive contribution to the local economy, although, as one long-standing artist commented, ‘entrepreneurial and marketing activities were “not done”’ in those days. One staff member [K3] described SLAK as the Modekwartier’s original founder, as it had played a key role in inserting ‘creative’ DNA into the area. In Reindorf, the ‘creative’ DNA of the neighbourhood was recognised and unleashed when the ‘fotoK’ gallery opened in 2010, hosting a photo exhibition using all the vacant shopping windows in Reindorfgasse for one month [R1]. The exhibition helped to counter the prevailing image of decay and shop closures, as echoed through the media: ‘masses of people are standing on the street when ‘fotoK’, neighbour of Urban Tool, opens an exhibition. Cars cannot pass by when the art gallery hosts a vernissage vis-à-vis’ (Wurmdobler and Brodnig 2012). Inspired by this potential, a local entrepreneur took the lead in improving the neighbourhood’s local economy and community life by convincing other artists and local entrepreneurs to ‘invest’ in the area by actively participating in community work and promoting the neighbourhood. He was described later as the ‘hero of the neighbourhood’, the ‘neighbourhood chief’ (Kozeschnik-Schlick 2015) and the ‘creative director of the neighbourhood’ (Kogelnik 2015).

In both cases, these initial sparks of creative-industry entrepreneurship met a wider response. To counter Klarendal’s blight and poor reputation, Volkshuisvesting Arnhem, a local housing corporation that owns a full third of the area’s housing, teamed up with the municipality, Klarendal’s main community worker and the local residents’ association to provide housing renovation, assistance with social policies, and foster business development. In 2014, a meeting in which ideas on creativity were discussed resulted in the ‘brainwave’ Modekwartier. Literally the day after, rushed by media coverage, Volkshuisvesting started to buy and renovate houses and conclude rental contracts with artists [K2] in one of the most-run down parts of the neighbourhoods. The housing corporation’s director and initiator of the Modekwartier [K14] states their role as follows: ‘We have been here for hundred years, if we want, we’ll be for another hundred.’

In Reindorf, a wider network of local creative-industry entrepreneurs, artists and cultural initiatives teamed up to reduce vacancies and improve community life. Then, the new network of ‘creatives’ got also involved with the established ‘Shopping Street Association Reindorfgasse’ (IG Kaufleute Reindorfgasse), representing the remaining ethnic and non-ethnic entrepreneurs such as restaurants, cafés, tobacco shops, butchers and barbers. Amongst others, the input of the younger generation of entrepreneurs led to a reorganisation of the annual shopping street festival in 2013. A ‘totally new concept, different music program and shopping concept’ [R1] was established, which also impressed officials from the local Urban Renewal Office (Gebietsbetreuung Stadterneuerung—GB*) [R2]. Consequently, employees of the local Urban Renewal Office supported the entrepreneurs to work concertedly on jointly organised neighbourhood activities. Through this policy support, a network of creatives was formed out of a neighbourhood initiative named Einfach 15 (Simply 15). In the Viennese context, GB* serves as a key mediator between the municipal administrations and local actors with the aim to locally address ‘housing renewal and participation, foster the development of ground floors and local economies, and tenancy law consulting.’ [R3]

Further interests from, and contacts with, policy-makers and other institutional actors triggered an influx of generic ideas concerning business clusters, creativity and neighbourhood development. In Arnhem, the main transmission occurred via two academics working at the regional university of applied sciences, HAN. Dany Jacobs, a national protagonist in Porter’s ‘business clustering’ perspective, and partaking in a variety of European research consortiums (Organza) initiated a local platform for Creative Economy and Innovation, ARCCI. Importantly, Jacobs developed the ‘double success criterion’ of artistic and commercial success of creative entrepreneurship (Gourzis 2014). HAN’s ‘smart city’ lecturer, Roy van Dalm, once the Dutch agent of Richard Florida Creativity Group, relayed Florida’s key ideas about the importance of the presence of a ‘creative class’ for ‘place based’ urban development, also through work for ARCCI. Besides, a study by the national consultancy firm Nyfer prompted the municipality to become a ‘creative city’ oriented towards fashion and design (Fockert 2002). A blend of academic, consultancy and city gurus (often combined in one person) thus framed and scripted Arnhem as a ‘creative city’. This weaved a vivid imagery connecting the arts school ArtEZ (as producer of creative-industry graduates), the local university HAN (delivering innovation and business competencies), various platforms and repositories (supporting innovation in fashion and design such as ARCCI), creative-industry places such as the Modekwartier Klarendal and Coehoorn (a ‘creative district’ opposite the central station), and the council’s role in city-branding through events (like the biannual ‘Fashion Biennale’). The initiative met a warm welcome throughout the city, only meeting resistance after ensuing policies started to fail [K6, K7], as discussed below.

Before reaching Reindorf, the support of creative industries trickled from the national to the neighbourhood level through various translations. Austrian policymakers started to highlight creative industry as an economic growth-machine from 2005 onwards and the ‘Federal Chamber of Commerce have initiated in-depth macro-economic surveys, launched tailor-made funding schemes, and started to support interest and lobbying groups at the local level’ (Punkenhofer 2010, 16) to foster creative industries nationally. In line with national developments, the city government of Vienna established the funding agency ‘departure’ to support creative industries in 2005. Officials at ‘departure’ began to think about ‘to position the city as a creative city apart from “established” ways such as film launches, design events and others [R4].’ Moreover, ‘departure’ aimed at translating the prevalent disciplinary ‘(…) economic entrepreneurial perspective’ into an interactive oriented diagram including sparks of the ‘social market’ diagram (Leidl 2014, 7). To receive input for this task, ‘departure’ commissioned a study to ‘analyse the potential of spaces that are used in creative ways by creative actors’ and their ‘social impact, (…) but also the contribution of cultural and creative industries to urban development’ in 2010 (Leidl 2014, 7). In 2014, ‘departure’ subsequently launched a scheme called ‘Commercial Sector Funding’, marking a shift from ‘single ventures, (…) to supporting the whole neighbourhood’ [R5]. The scheme supports projects of local business associations with a maximum budget of € 90,000 over three years, covering 65% of the project costs.

For Klarendal, creativity signified a twofold way of boosting visibility and competitiveness. First, for Volkshuisvesting, social workers and residents, the Modekwartier helps to improve the area’s reputation, safety and liveability. To facilitate this development, Volkshuisvesting started refurbishing shops as ateliers, initially offering them to new tenants against low entry rents. Second, for the municipality, province, RDA and local businesses, the city’s appeal is crucial, chiming with Florida’s credos. The Modekwartier is Arnhem’s window to the world, as a municipal staff member puts it: ‘There is much creativity, but Klarendal has played a key role in its visibility.’ [K6] Besides visibility, a major consideration was to foster entrepreneurial capacities, ‘because the entrepreneurs are all very creative, but entrepreneurship, that is still a thing. One is much better at that than the other (…). Entrepreneurs have to be independent’ [K7]. In order to create appeal as well as financial autonomy and sustainability, the artists needed to discipline themselves in proper bookkeeping, good outreach, and sensible investments so as to maintain a viable business. However, local innovation and employment were less of concern, which created considerable resentment, as expressed by an active cultural worker in the area: ‘Key for us is creativity, how it serves the neighbourhood, not so much fashion as a business(…). We organise events low-budget, with many volunteers, really exhausting, and then professionals (… .) benefit from that [establishing the Modekwartier]’ [K6]. While such ambivalences were acknowledged and somewhat acted upon by Volkshuisvesting by widening its understanding of entrepreneurship, it did not affect the city’s perspective [K14]

In Reindorf, the transmission of creative-city policies from city to neighbourhood occurred when the already existing network of local entrepreneurs decided to apply for ‘Commercial Sector Funding’. To meet the tender specifications ‘cooperation, innovation and networks’ [R5], Reindorfs already existing network formulated a neighbourhood concept. In 2014, the Vienna Business Agency endorsed the concept of Einfach15 on the condition that it would foster collaboration and networking between different local actors. This prompted, first of all, formal collaboration between the creative-cultural entrepreneurs organised as Einfach15 and the already established entrepreneurs organised as the official shopping street association ‘IG Kaufleute Reindorfgasse’. The initiative for this collaboration had already been taken before the funding application was granted, because only official business associations were able to apply for ‘Commercial Sector Funding’. In addition, Einfach15 reached out to other actors like the local urban renewal offices and interested residents, initially via personal contacts. The concept also promoted the ‘innovative’ use of communication technologies, both for internal communication and branding activities, such as social media and digital shopping maps.

So, what was the impact on the identification and framing of local creative-industry entrepreneurs? In Klarendal, the key challenge for achieving a sustainable, well-performing Modekwartier has been the creation of a setting in which Modekwartier entrepreneurs achieve to sell self-made creative products and services to customers visiting the area. For Reindorf, the key aim for establishing a viable, diverse neighbourhood has been a setting in which collaboration amongst entrepreneurs strengthens the local economy and serves the community life of the neighbourhood.

Framing and enacting creative-industry entrepreneurship

After the first ‘brainwave’, creative-industry clustering landed in Klarendal through the hard work of Seinpost, a consultancy specialising in the local orchestration of local economic development. Working from a dedicated branch established in the neighbourhood, Seinpost played a double strategic role. First, they participated in Klarendal’s Economic Roundtable, together with representatives from the municipality, business and residents and housing. Second, they coordinated a committee charged with selecting and priming the second round of entrepreneurs through which Modekwartier expanded from 25 to 50 (work)shops. Joined by representatives from the Modekwartier business association ‘DOCKS’, ArtEZ, and Volkshuisvesting, the committee used Jacobs’ ‘double success criteria’ (creative and commercial) to evaluate candidates for the new Modekwartier shops, including the need for coaching. They also aimed for the right ‘business mix’ and visibility for the Modekwartier. The academic source for these profiling practices was ARCCI, which had produced a study revealing that the first round of 25 firms established in the Modekwartier were seriously lacking in entrepreneurial competencies (Elshof, Van het Hof, and Slaats 2011). Once the Modekwartier had expanded to 50 shops, selection and coaching was taken over by Arnhem Modeincubator (Fashion incubator). The incubator consisted of one building in the Modekwartier providing start-up places, business support and meeting places. The notion of a start-up place also matched the idea of Klarendal as a breeding place for business which, on maturation, may move elsewhere, to places like Amsterdam or Antwerp: ‘this is a generator and you will learn and you will make your first steps and you will have some help from the mode incubator or from your neighbours and when you make it I think you will leave’ [K8].

In 2014, the selection committee was disbanded and responsibility for business profiling and coaching came into the hands of ‘DOCKS’. From the onset, the association was expected to take over Volkshuisvesting’s role of shaping the business district independent from state support or directives [K7]. Running on the basis of modest membership fees and a high commitment from voluntary staff and board members, DOCKS provides shared visibility, through common marketing such as a website (modekwartier.nl) and organising events, boosts entrepreneurship through exchange of experiences, engages with the neighbourhood through partaking in safety and liveability projects, and represents the strategic interests of its members in the fields of fashion, design, and food & beverage. For the latter, it relies on regular meetings and intensive use of Facebook. DOCKS plays a key role in organising a highly valued neighbourhood spring event, the Night of Fashion. Not only does this two days’ event provide an opportunity for the Modekwartier to present its business to wider audiences and to gain a lot of media interest, it is also a moment where the different neighbourhood groups (artists, students, yuppies, migrants, ‘old’ Klarendal) partied and met together. Framing thus shifted from an emphasis on prosthetics, in which individual firms were gauged and coached, to a model of habilitation, in which business improvement became more a matter of collective support and action.

‘Einfach 15’, on the other hand, has been relying heavily on active participation and personal commitment. The organisation of activities, projects and events that serve local community life follow the principle of voluntarism, as the following quote illustrates: ‘If someone wants to help, ok, he/she can participate, but there is no enforcement. According to me, it is always up to the people themselves’ [R1]. In practice, this frame leads to several roles. One Einfach15 member points out that ‘there are several active people and there are others that just wanted to be part of the process’ [R8]. Overall, this frame stresses how residents benefit from the neighbourhood’s new vitality: ‘it’s ok that there are people that just want to be part of the process, because what we are doing is mainly for people that are living here’ [R2]. Yet, critical voices within Einfach 15 raised concerns over vitality suggesting to ‘keep branding as local as possible’ to reach only neighbourhood residents, but also expressed general concerns about the mix of ‘activities and shops that should also serve marginalised groups’ [R13]. Of importance for the framing is that collaboration strengthens broad identification with the neighbourhood, creating an amenable, interactive environment for entrepreneurship of different kinds and enacting residents as customers and supporting roles in the neighbourhood’s vitalisation.

In practical terms, collaboration is configured as well as distributed through several organisational devices which are monitored by two leaders of Einfach15. Joint initiatives turned into subprojects driven and organised predominantly by artists, cultural initiatives or creative-industry entrepreneurs. According to Einfach15’s annual reports, subprojects can range from neighbourhood tours, art installations and performances to cultural events like public cooking events or producing branding material. Old-established and new entrepreneurs join in the voluntary organisation of local parties and events. For instance, one old-established entrepreneur ‘always asks the suppliers if they can organise free drinks for the street festival (…) and donate them’ [R6], while ‘new’ creative entrepreneurs provide the musical expertise and marketing skills. This joint organisational lead by old and new entrepreneurs also strengthens the local resident-entrepreneur relationship and identification with the neighbourhood across different social and ethnic groups. Members of Einfach15 observe that, as a result of this interaction, especially older and immigrant residents are more likely to step into shops of (new) entrepreneurs during local parties and events. This is in contrast to Klarendal, where local residents generally appreciate the Modekwartier’s image, although they hardly ever visit the shops [K9].

Within Einfach15’s network agenda ‘the most important issue is communication’ [R1]. Both internal and external communication are considered important. Members of the network use several modes for internal communication, as the following quotes of members show: ‘You meet other entrepreneurs at a coffee, via social media or at these events or festivals’ [R7]. Initially, Einfach15’s two leaders organised ‘official’ networking events inviting entrepreneurs who ‘never had the chance to meet each other to talk about the neighbourhood and other things than daily business’ [R2]. After funding was established, these meetings served to foster and broaden local networks, especially for new entrepreneurs that settled in the neighbourhood lately. Additionally, for the entrepreneurs of the neighbourhood, social media is of crucial importance for local ties between entrepreneurs. On ‘(…) Facebook (…) we established a group for internal affairs.’ [R8] Comparable to Klarendal’s Modekwartier, proximity and the cosy street design of Reindorfgasse plays another crucial role in prompting encounters and setting up neighbourhood projects. In the words of an official of the urban renewal office, ‘you can constantly chit-chat, be updated and develop things with new ideas and that’s a huge quality to develop a process’ [R2]. Initially, Einfach15 established a new spatial imaginary for place-branding, but according to various entrepreneurs no further collective branding activities were needed. The intrinsic interest from media ‘on areas where we [journalists] are looking for new trends’ [R8] powerfully assisted outward framing of the neighbourhood’s creativity. Active promotion was hardly applied by local actors, as, for example, one entrepreneur summarises it: ‘Interestingly, I have done very little promotion on my own (…) the ‘Bezirkszeitung’ [district newspaper] immediately contacted me and covered my opening’ [R12]. The media thus contributed to the buzz on the neighbourhood’s creativity, since nearly every media article on the neighbourhood mentioned dropping numbers of vacant stores, increased vibrancy, creativity and commercial diversity, and the success of local events and initiatives.

Given the limited size and scope of Einfach15 and related (sub)projects, Reindorf’s ‘home-made’ collaborative development of social integration should not be played up and romanticised too much. It does show, nevertheless, the sparks of a ‘social market’ diagram with its emphasis on exploration of business and trade relations, socio-economic governance infused by a perspective on social interaction and innovation, and strong identification with the neighbourhood. In Reindorf, framing tends to nurture the (socially) active entrepreneur who collaborates, communicates and works for the neighbourhood. In Klarendal, in contrast, more use is made of prosthetics mediated through a variety of joint-up institutional players, gradually opening a space for habilitation largely of a neoliberal kind. That does not mean that social interaction and neighbourhood identification are less important in Klarendal, yet these ‘home-made’ practices work out differently, as discussed further below.

Overflowing and resistance

Framing, as said before, is inherently volatile and exposed to everyday practices of resistance. With all the hard work in creating texts, scripts, devices, resources, agency is often non-responsive, unstable and erratic. There is a constant desire, therefore, to improve capacities, to negotiate better, and to make devices more responsive and more in control. Regular overflowing may thus call for re-framing (Callon 1998).

In Klarendal, the urban ideal of the ‘creative’ entrepreneur proved very difficult to enact. Despite all the primary prosthetic devices (amenable physical environment, rent support, coaching, networking), artists failed to turn into successful entrepreneurs. The use of selection and coaching, as discussed earlier, addressed this problem only to a limited extent. While competencies improved, motivation and commitment remained problematic: ‘it is hard to say to the artists: go and breed (…) not all artists are equally interested, in contact with their environment’ [K7]. Artists also engage in other forms of work, due to diverging interests or just to make ends meet in the highly volatile markets of fashion and design. A thorny issue has been the alignment of opening hours. Rental contracts with Volkshuisvesting commonly stipulated shops had to be open between Wednesday (sometimes Thursday) to Saturday between 11–6 o’clock. All institutional parties saw this as crucial for the appeal and success of Modekwartier; too many closed doors would discourage visitors. Yet, entrepreneurs found it very difficult to meet this demand, which created much frustration: ‘Everything that is invested here is being dramatically undermined (…) people come from Groningen and Germany and find the door closed. Without a solution the Modekwartier will go down due to its own success (…)’ [K10]. Also, other attempts to improve common access have failed. Modekwartier’s website has been poorly maintained due to a lack of attention. The idea of a common web-shop was blocked because entrepreneurs working in allegedly ‘higher’ market segments refused to work with people from ‘lower’ segments. As one entrepreneur exclaimed: ‘what a laugh. Where is the feeling of togetherness?’ [K11].

Not only the entrepreneur tended to overflow. Key mediators such as the Economic Roundtable and Arnhem Incubator also proved notoriously unstable. Despite a broad participation, influx of ideas and scripts and proximity to resources, the Economic Roundtable failed to come up with a coherent vision and strategy. In the words of a business representative: ‘I witnessed that at the Economic Roundtable. Everybody just told what they were doing (…) there was no room for new ideas’ [K7]. Rather than a site of enactment of gentrification, the Roundtable was primarily a place of dealing and wheeling between institutional parties. Likewise, the incubator failed to meet its promise of breeding new entrepreneurs and business as part of the creative-industry cluster ambition. Here the issue was more practical than political. The incubator manager was unable to develop a viable business model for the incubator. Its floor prices were relatively high in comparison with the kind of services it offered to on-site start-up firms, while support to Modekwartier companies yielded too little income. The incubator closed in 2014, after which Volkshuisvesting continued to provide start-up workspaces in other ways, and companies were referred to standard provincial and city support schemes.

After 2014, prosthetics became limited to rent support, and market framing became more reliant on habilitation through the work of DOCKS. In part, DOCKS helps its members to work interactively and collectively, and to act as a spokesperson to other institutional parties. Most of this comes down to the work of a small group of highly committed and networked artists and cultural scouts. To further invest in niche development and branding, however, DOCKS lacks communication skills and intelligence. As one member observes: ‘one listens too much to emotions [of the entrepreneurs] and fails to approach things professionally’ [K11]; or ‘a problem in DOCKS is that there are as many opinions about PR and design as there are people’ [K12]. Acting more strategically poses a major challenge to DOCKS. As another member suggests, ‘DOCKS could help to work towards a ‘smart’ variation of shops and stuff, all fashion related, not just resale’ [K13]. In DOCK’s defence, however, one could argue that such foresight and habilitation warrant a kind of strategic debate and leadership that should encompass more than the local business association. A major problem is that, at city level, the image of Arnhem as a fashion hub unravelled notably after the folding of the Biennale in 2013, due to disappointing interest and income. Since then, the city’s cluster profile has remained a politically highly vexed and conflictual issue. Echoing this uncertainty, Volkshuisvesting, as the main provider of new business space, tested the idea to expand from fashion to craft, and even, more controversially, from the current emphasis on on-site manufacturing to normal retail (resale): ‘The idea is to do something else than fashion in the area (…), more creative craftsmanship. We allow, or to be honest, intentionally opt for (…) broadening. The name and core value of Modekwartier remain: creativity, unicity, quality, craftsmanship: What you find here, you find nowhere else. That is the core, that is the power’. While broadening fits the scope and remit of DOCKS, the idea to turn to ‘normal’ retail has met much scepticism: ‘There is more than fashion now, lifestyle and experience shopping, which is ok, more an issue that there are new shops that don’t make anything themselves’ [K10]. Without such a focus, Klarendal is likely to become a ‘normal’ gentrifying area dominated by hipster retail, bars and restaurants. While the current network pursues economisation largely rooted in Klarendal’s socio-cultural fabric, future practices may well promote habilitation without such anchoring, yielding a higher risk of displacement.

Einfach15’s framing of the socially engaged ‘creative’ entrepreneur in a trans-sectoral setting also experiences considerable tension. The problem here is not so much internal communication and visioning, but fragmented participation, exclusion and filtered communication. Some outsiders embrace the need for collaboration, but see no opportunities in the context of Einfach15: ‘if there would be any joint activities, we would be willing to help, of course’ [R10]. Chains of personal contact and social media appear to reach only certain circles of entrepreneurs. Solid collaboration depends on mutual understanding and trust, which is not readily available, but warrants intense, face-to-face communication and negotiation, especially with older and ethnic entrepreneurs: ‘Of course there are difficulties in approaching, let’s say, the classic Kebab-shop. But after a long-time we approached Café Reindorf, where mainly the Turkish community resides. To build up confidence was a long process, but we did it after a few Raki at the shopping street festival.’ [R1]. Where such processes do not take place, old entrepreneurs often remain sceptical and critical about the influx of new entrepreneurial roots and the way they take initiative: ‘all these new shops are not suitable to Reindorfgasse; they fit to young, modern people but, they actually should be located in the first district [the city centre]’ [R11].

Not only does the reach of the network within Reindorf show major hurdles, also the stability of the network itself is at stake. A rather mundane issue, common to all ‘grassroots’ business groups (like Einfach15 and DOCKS), is that of ordinarily available time and resources. Despite their interest and affinity, new creative-industry entrepreneurs generally lack the time to be (fully) committed: ‘it was very hard for everyone to manage work on Einfach15, since everyone is doing their business first and then the networking’ [R1]. The same applies to old-established entrepreneurs sympathetic to the initiative: ‘I know them [Einfach15], but we are not involved at all. I just do not have time for it. We chit-chat on the street but there is no deeper contact’ [R10]. The lack of financial resources is compounded, moreover, by the specific design of funding regulations. Entrepreneurs and the business association need to pre-finance investments to gain funding, posing a major hurdle to taking initiative. The confluence of entrepreneurial capacities and funding rules thus limits the capacity to organise innovative neighbourhood activities. Another issue is the role of leadership. The advantage of the actual strong leadership is that they incite and support many projects that help to foster and forge close social and economic relationships. A problem, however, is that it limits more active engagement from others: ‘the two [leaders] then prepare everything from the meetings to the logos and graphics (…) you barely have to be active anymore’ [R8]. The network currently enacting ‘social market’ framing, accordingly, is critically dependent on the nodal role of a small number of charismatic and resourceful protagonists. Social interaction and innovation clearly rely on personal contact and leadership, but agency should be more distributed to secure a sustainable network. Major issues thus are the stability of the current network sustaining ‘social market’ framing, and the extent to which the framing can gain momentum beyond its current reach.

Conclusion

This paper has investigated the enactment of commercial gentrification infused by globally circulating policies boosting ‘creative’ neighbourhood economies. By examining two European neighbourhoods, we asked (1) how are local creative-policy practices rooted in globally circulating imaginaries and scripts, (2) what kind of imaginaries, strategies and tactics are deployed locally for economisation, and (3) how is commercial gentrification enacted? Following Callon, economisation is viewed primarily in terms of market formation, with a key role for the entrepreneurial subject. The focus on enactment draws the attention to the organisational and political complexity of practice, including the role of resources, personal and organisational drives, and resistance. Our analysis employed three core concepts to study circulation and enactment: diagrams, forceful ‘structured continuities’ (‘meta-agencement’) to grasp the proliferation of, and impregnation by, neoliberal economisation and alternatives (‘social market’), framing, the shaping and enactment of market subjectivities (agencement), and overflowing, the role of distortions and resistances in enactment.

In applying this triad heuristic framework, we elaborate two theoretical positions. First, we see ‘commercial gentrification’, as well as its ‘planetary reach’, as abstract ‘points of arrival’ (Loftus 2018) rooted in a highly diverse and dynamic real-concrete world. The marked differences we observed in the practices under study, in adopting global ‘creative policies’ as well as the local framing of the entrepreneurial subject through ‘protheses’, ‘interactivity’ and ‘social market’, underpin the idea that planetary (commercial) gentrification should primarily be conceived as a conceptual generalisation. As such, it serves to analytically connect two vital sites of economisation: the worldwide shaping of neoliberal varieties of capitalist development, and local practices of economisation where different (and partly autonomous) drivers come together, notably neighbourhood upgrading, creative-industry development and the boosting of entrepreneurship. Accordingly, causality rests here on the particular connections and on the concrete forms of practices of circulation and economisation, and less on grasping gentrification as a force in itself. Second, in line with this, we operationalise commercial gentrification as the enactment of ‘creative’ entrepreneurship within a neighbourhood setting. Moving from the ‘meta-agencement’ of neoliberal ‘creative-city’ policy to the real-concrete ‘agencement’ of local entrepreneurs yielded detailed insight into how policy ambitions and initiatives were twisted, distorted and resisted, sometimes intentional, but also due to (in)capacities.

Our findings show that the ‘creative’ sparks present in both neighbourhoods resulted in a wholehearted embracing of planetary, hegemonic discourses on clusters, competitiveness and creative-industry districts. The umbilical cords to the world’s key advocates of neoliberal economisation proved surprisingly short. In Arnhem, the neoliberal disciplinary gospels of ‘visibility’ for market creation and ‘competitiveness’ of creative-industry businesses promoted by Michael Porter and Richard Florida were literally recited at both city and neighbourhood level. Resistance stemmed entirely from within, through the housing corporation and business association. In Reindorf, on the other hand, the hegemonic notions of ‘competitiveness’ and ‘creative entrepreneurship’ were tweaked already by the city’s orientation towards a more social orientation to market development within neighbourhoods.

So, what lessons can we finally draw from ‘framing’ and ‘overflowing’ for our neighbourhoods and argument? Klarendal and Reindorf both manifest clear ‘visible signs of gentrification’, to use Zukin’s (2016, 203) words, raising entrepreneurial activity and overall reputation. Yet, through resistance and failures, the social implications in terms of residential and commercial gentrification of these ‘visible signs’ remained so far limited in scope and scale. Competitive clustering in Klarendal’s Fashion Quarter became attenuated because the creation of ‘prosthetics’ (training, business support) drawn from the Porter-Florida toolkit proved increasingly difficult. This promoted a shift towards a less disciplinary, more interactive mode of ‘habilitation’ aiming at collaboration and coordination of entrepreneurs. The latter, in turn, met further, even deliberate resistance due to the strong social orientation of individual entrepreneurs. Reindorf, on the other hand, showed an initial affinity with ‘interactivity’ as well as some openness and invocation of the ‘social-market’ diagram, where creative-industry entrepreneurs were meant to enhance neighbourhood relations. However, focusing on active participation and personal commitment, this aim remained limited due to fragmented participation, exclusionary tendencies through filtered communication and resistance from ‘non-creative’ entrepreneurs.

What is noteworthy is how overflowing stems from a mix of everyday resistance by entrepreneurs and failed policy designs. Everyday resistance led in Klarendal to a ‘graveyard’ of closed shops and non-participating entrepreneurs, while inadequate policy-making resulted in a collapsed Fashion Incubator. In Reindorf, failed (financial) support by public authorities and lacking resources of entrepreneurs limited the capabilities for neighbourhood work, while resistance arose from scepticism by ‘non-creative’ entrepreneurs towards selective neighbourhood activities. From the perspective of commercial gentrification, therefore, these findings resonate with the theoretical argument that resistance is also characterized by ‘non-politicized, covert, unintentional, informal, and deliberately invisible practices of everyday life’ (Annunziata and Rivas-Alonso 2018, 408).

In our view, resistance could become (far) more powerful if local entrepreneurs of diverse professions (acting as collectives) and other stakeholders created a stronger voice and role in citywide imagination of neighbourhood economisation and development moving beyond the neo-liberal creative city focus. Especially in Klarendal, this should be accompanied by a rewiring of the ideational chords away from the ‘Lords’ of Competitiveness, towards ‘planetary’ social-market thinking (Hollands 2019). While it is laudable that residential gentrification has been prevented so far, a social neighbourhood orientation should also be accompanied by a well-adapted social-market perspective on economisation. There is still considerable need, we thus conclude, for political change and action at the municipal level.

Finally, apart from its worldwide manifestations, and common drivers, we may ask what is ‘planetary’ about gentrification? To grasp, as we did here, enactment, resistance and alternatives, we have suggested a focus on translocal circuits and agency of policies and capital by fully taking into account (trans)local contexts and practices. The assemblage-based analytical concepts (diagram, framing, overflowing) help to deepen our understanding of how this circuitry and evolution plays out in terms of influence, domination, agency and differentiation. Rather than a ‘planetary’ image, this yields a detailed yet synthetic story of concrete, worldwide circulation, determined entrepreneurial framing and forceful local response. While the threat of gentrification may be considered an example of globalisation, its enactment is a deeply local affair.

Acknowledgements

We kindly thank Freek de Haan, Yvonne Franz and Dario Unterdorfer for their comments and for their contribution to data collection. We also thank the editors and the anonymous reviewers for their helpful comments.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Correction Statement

This article has been corrected with minor changes. These changes do not impact the academic content of the article.

Additional information

Funding

This research was supported by the JPI Urban Europe project “Gentrification 2.0: Practices and policies for neighbourhood improvement” (Project code NWO 438-12-425).

Notes on contributors

Michael Friesenecker

Michael Friesenecker is a PhD researcher in Geography and a research assistant in Sociology at the University of Vienna. Email: [email protected]

Arnoud Lagendijk

Arnoud Lagendijk is Professor of Geography at Radboud University. Email: [email protected]

Notes

1 ‘Stichting Leniging Ateliernood Kunstenaars Arnhem’—Foundation Alleviation of Artists’ Studio Shorage Arnhem.