In contemporary economic development circles, there are few ideas more persistent or more poorly examined than the desire to recreate Silicon Valley.
For over two decades, the world has watched a parade of billion-dollar unicorns prance out of Silicon Valley. In economic development circles, it’s now taken as gospel: if your city wants prosperity or relevance, it must become “the next Silicon Valley.” Hence the global branding spree: Silicon Gulch, Silicon Glen, Silicon Wadi, Silicon Valley North, Silicon Plateau. No geographic feature has been safe. Somewhere between the pitch deck and the policy memo, the belief took hold that Silicon Valley could and should be replicated. The assumption is rarely questioned because it seems so self-evidently correct. Silicon Valley has an undeniable allure that transcends mere wealth. Dubai, Jeddah, and Oslo are flush with capital, yet none inspire imitators. For city planners and economic development officials cities seeking prosperity and prestige for their cities, Silicon Valley appears the obvious model – despite growing evidence of its social, economic, and ethical shortcomings.
Let’s begin with the obvious: Silicon Valley is not an idea or a metaphor. It is a physical region in California’s southern San Francisco Bay Area, and its success is not abstract – it can be measured in census data, real estate prices, and economic performance. Yes, median incomes are extraordinarily high. But so is inequality. In July 2025, data from San Jose State University showed that nine households held 15% of the region’s total wealth. A mere 0.1% of residents controlled 71% of it. San Francisco and Alameda counties both rank among the top five U.S. counties for income disparity.
This is what Silicon Valley is: a deeply unequal, highly capitalized region where a narrow elite reaps disproportionate rewards from innovations they insist are for everyone’s benefit. This is the defining legacy of Silicon Valley at the local level: a concentration of wealth that has moved well past “extreme” and into territory better described as obscene. It is generally agreed that San Francisco is, to put it kindly, in decline. Prior to the pandemic, 38% of San Francisco’s office space was leased by tech firms. When remote work hit, the vacancy crisis began. The city had hitched its economy to a single, high-volatility industry. It wasn’t bad intent, but it was bad planning. The tech bros, like all industrial royalty, take care to own residences outside the mess they helped make. Your oil baron doesn’t live in Fort McMurray; your diamond magnate doesn’t retire in the Congo. Mark Zuckerberg owns thousands of acres in Hawaii; other transplants to the island paradise include Larry Page (Google), Sam Altman (OpenAI), and Larry Ellison (Oracle). The region that has emerged from their innovations is marked by extreme inequality and hollowed-out public spaces. The result is a cautionary tale, not a blueprint.
When a city sets out to become the next Silicon Valley, it’s unlikely they’re envisioning a place so unlivable that the wealthy flee from it on weekends.
If Silicon Valley is the model we’re so eager to replicate, we should have our eyes wide open about the kind of society it produces. Silicon Valley founders, especially in those of the high-rhetoric era of the early 2010s, have spoken passionately about changing the world and connecting people. Fine. But if that’s the standard they set for themselves, they deserve to be judged by it. Auto manufacturers didn’t promise Utopia; they promised wages and pensions. The Silicon Valley elite promised a better world and couldn’t even deliver a better city.
The other oft-stated allure of the Silicon Valley paradigm is that it “creates jobs”. The reality? Tech companies are simply not built to employ large numbers of people. Unlike industries such as auto manufacturing, which require a vast workforce, software scales with relatively little labour. Among the top 20 largest U.S. employers, only Amazon can even plausibly be called “tech.” The rest are companies like Costco, Starbucks, and PepsiCo. Meanwhile, the top 20 list of the biggest firms by market capitalization is dominated by familiar Big Tech: Google, Facebook, Apple. It’s the inequality problem in a nutshell: these companies make scads of money, and distribute it among very few.
So if the goal is jobs, then Silicon Valley is the wrong model. If the goal is equitable cities, it is a disastrous one. I would argue that it is neither possible nor desirable to replicate the Silicon Valley phenomenon.
It’s not possible because Silicon Valley was not created: it evolved. It is the product of long-accumulated factors: Cold War defence contracts, Stanford’s institutional culture, the peculiarities of 20th-century California zoning, a critical mass of venture capital, and more than a few strokes of luck. It was not the result of strategic civic design. There was no “innovation strategy.” It simply happened. And yet cities around the world continue to try to reverse-engineer it, often using taxpayer dollars.
As a person with a healthy interest in why people innovate, and how, and as the former director of a startup incubator, I’ve been asked – repeatedly – how to recreate Silicon Valley. My answer rarely changes. If forced to sum it up, I’d write this in bold, capital letters across the top of every policy memo: Innovation Ecosystems Are. Not. Scalable.
They are not modular. There is no playbook. You cannot franchise them, no matter how many tax credits, co-working spaces, or public-private partnerships you deploy. Trying to “build another Silicon Valley” is roughly as coherent as trying to “build another Paris.” You can install some wide boulevards and an Eiffel Tower replica, but the result will not be Paris. Paris is the product of centuries of specific history, politics, culture, geography, and accident. Silicon Valley is no different.
Curiously, we don’t try this logic everywhere. Consider Taiwan, which dominates global semiconductor manufacturing; in 2023 it produced over 60% of all chips and more than 90% of the most advanced ones. Its ecosystem is the result of state planning, industrial coordination, long-term investment, and deep expertise. Yet few talk about building a “Silicon Taipei.” Why? Because even the most optimistic planners understand that chip fabrication isn’t scalable. It requires more than will. It requires capacity, continuity, and memory.
The same applies to Silicon Valley. It happened once, in a specific place, under specific conditions. That it has not been replicated in forty years should tell us something. The final irony is that companies like Facebook have stated that their mission was to connect the world – to democratize communication, to level the playing field. The metaverse was going to liberate us from the accidents of geography. It did not. The power, the influence and much of the wealth is still concentrated in about 10 square miles in the Bay Area; the shortest path to success is to move physically (not virtually) within it. The persistent physical existence of Silicon Valley should be enough proof that it cannot be cloned.
And yet, the dream persists. Why? Because Silicon Valley isn’t just about innovation or money. It’s really about prestige and power. It represents a kind of modern royalty: the ability to shape discourse, redirect investment, set the terms of public and private life. To emulate it is to imagine not just wealth, but relevance. To be at the centre of the map is a seductive fantasy. But fantasies are not strategies.
When the illusion fades, what’s left? Hollowed-out city centres, skyrocketing real estate, and bloated incubators with little to incubate. It’s almost a civic identity crisis, paid for with public funds. A city that tried to become something else, and failed.
This is why planners and officials must be clear-eyed. Building around the idea of Silicon Valley, without interrogating the model, is unwise. If a local success emerges organically, fine. Support it. But don’t build monuments to fantasies. Ask what you actually want for your citizens. More jobs? Broad prosperity? Sector expertise? Then build on local strengths, with realistic expectations and long time horizons. There are no shortcuts.
Silicon Valley happened. That doesn’t mean it can happen again. And its mystique conceals a basic truth: the Valley sells openness but runs on exclusivity. It preaches global connection, yet rewards geographic proximity. The system is designed to enrich those closest to its institutional and financial core, and that core is not going anywhere.