For years, architects and photographers have described Milan as a city that does not flaunt its beauty, but rather conceals it. An introspective kind of beauty, hidden behind discreet gates, within inner courtyards, and in the quiet details of its case di ringhiera.
It was a city built to be lived in.
In the post-war period and during the economic boom, Milan developed as an inclusive urban model: a city designed to accommodate the bourgeoisie, the middle class, and the working class alike. Different in income, yet united by a shared idea of living. Housing—often designed by leading architects—followed principles of functionality, rationality, and aesthetic quality. These were not just private spaces, but places of everyday life.
The case di ringhiera emerged from this vision: simple yet vibrant spaces, where the courtyard functioned as an extension of both the home and social life.
Today, that same beauty still exists. But its meaning has changed.
It has become a commodity.
The case di ringhiera survive in the collective imagination, yet are increasingly accessible only through curated, aestheticized images circulating on social media. For many, they remain something to look at—not to live in.
This transformation has not gone unnoticed. International media, including the Financial Times, has recently examined Milan’s evolution, reaching a striking conclusion: today, the city has become less affordable even than London, when considering the ratio between incomes and housing costs.
The comparison with London is particularly telling. The British capital has long been a global symbol of the housing crisis: extremely high prices, strong pressure on rents, and growing difficulties for the middle class. And yet, when compared to this extreme model, Milan reveals a different but equally significant issue.
While London’s high cost of living is partly offset by higher average salaries and a more dynamic labor market, Milan’s rising housing costs have not been matched by comparable income growth. The result is a paradox: although cheaper in absolute terms, Milan is more expensive in relative terms for those who live there.
Over the past decade, according to market data, housing prices in Milan have risen by 57%, while rents have increased by more than 70%. This acceleration has progressively pushed a significant portion of the population out of the city: young people, middle-income workers, and families.
This trend is part of a broader transformation.
In just a few years, Milan has become one of Europe’s most desirable cities—first as a tourist destination, then as a place to invest and live. The period following Expo, Brexit, and the pandemic further strengthened its appeal, attracting capital, companies, and high-income residents.
But every increase in desirability comes at a cost.
And that cost is reflected in the urban fabric.
The case di ringhiera are a telling example. Outwardly unchanged, their interiors have been radically transformed: apartments merged, high-end renovations carried out, and former working-class housing converted into luxury residences. Properties that remain inaccessible to most, yet still more affordable than the multimillion alternatives found in the city’s new financial districts.
The result is a quiet but profound shift:
the structures remain, but their social function has changed.
Photographer Virgilio Carnisio, who has documented Milan for decades, now describes these buildings as “empty shells.” Even the courtyards—once raw, functional spaces filled with small workshops and neighborhood businesses—have been transformed into curated, decorative environments. More beautiful, perhaps, but in his view less “honest.”
This observation opens up a broader reflection.
Milan has not simply become more expensive.
It has become more selective.
From a city designed to include, it is turning into a city that filters. A place where access is no longer determined solely by the desire to live in an urban environment, but by the economic means to afford it.
And this leads to a fundamental question:
what kind of city does Milan want to be in the future?
A competitive, international hub, attractive to capital and talent—or a city capable of maintaining a balance between growth and accessibility?
The answer is not straightforward. But it is becoming increasingly urgent.
Because the risk is not only economic or real estate-related.
It is about identity.
When a city changes who can live in it, it inevitably changes what it is.