For several decades, globalization appeared to be an unstoppable force. Goods, ideas, and people moved across borders with unprecedented ease, and cities became the laboratories of this interconnected age. They were engines of trade and finance, magnets for migration, and symbols of openness. A select few—New York, London, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Singapore—rose to the status of “world cities,” defining global flows and shaping global culture.
Yet, the tide is turning. In the 2020s, a new era of fragmentation is reshaping the world. Political blocs are hardening, trade is becoming regionalized, and technology ecosystems are splitting apart. Supply chains are being localized, data is controlled by governments, and national security increasingly trumps global cooperation. The world is no longer one vast network—it is a patchwork of competing systems.
This new order is transforming the geography of influence. The universal “world city” is giving way to cities that are defined by their position within specific blocs or by their ability to mediate between them. London, once the bridge between Europe and the wider world, now finds itself more inward-looking after Brexit. New York, still powerful, has become the unchallenged centre of a Western financial system that no longer stretches as seamlessly into Asia or Africa as before. Shanghai and Shenzhen thrive within a Chinese sphere that is increasingly self-sufficient, while Singapore walks a fine line between openness and control.
Between these blocs lies a group of strategically independent countries that do not fully belong to any camp—India, Türkiye, Saudi Arabia, Indonesia, or parts of Africa. Their cities are becoming the connectors of this new fragmented world, offering access, neutrality, and agility. Istanbul, with one foot in Europe and the other in Asia, continues to serve as a bridge between economic systems. Mumbai and Bangalore profit from India’s careful balance between the West and China, attracting investment from both. Riyadh, fuelled by vast investment under Saudi Arabia’s Vision 2030, positions itself as an ambitious regional meeting ground—economically open but politically distinct. Jakarta and Ho Chi Minh City are drawing manufacturing and digital industries seeking stability and low geopolitical risk. In these places, being outside the blocs has become an advantage.
Some cities, however, are losing the strategic positions they once enjoyed. Hong Kong, once the emblem of Asia’s openness, is increasingly overshadowed by Singapore. As political autonomy erodes and capital becomes more cautious, global firms are shifting their regional headquarters southward. The city that once connected East and West is now bound more tightly to one side of the divide. Similarly, other established centres—Frankfurt, Seoul, or even Dubai—will have to defend their relevance as competition intensifies and alliances harden.
In the age of globalization, a city’s reputation was built on openness and cosmopolitanism. In the age of fragmentation, reputation depends on resilience, autonomy, and strategic positioning. The ability to engage with multiple systems without depending on any single one will determine which cities thrive. Those that can offer security, clarity, and pragmatic cooperation will attract capital and talent, even if the global order becomes more polarized.
But beyond economics, there are early signs—visible in culture, communication, and collective imagination—that this transformation is already well underway. While financial statistics often lag behind, cultural shifts reveal the changing self-perception of cities long before markets do.
The first signal lies in the language of urban branding. During the height of globalization, cities competed to be the most open and cosmopolitan. Slogans invoked connection and universality: “London – Open to the World,” “I ❤️ NY,” “Dubai – Where the Future Begins.” Today, that language is giving way to a new vocabulary of sovereignty and strategic autonomy. Riyadh and Dubai now frame their development around national visions—Vision 2030, Dubai 2040—that look outward only from a position of self-confidence. London’s post-Brexit narrative emphasizes being “the best city in the world,” not necessarily the most global. Singapore describes itself as a “trusted hub,” no longer “Asia’s global city” but a carefully positioned broker between systems. This semantic shift—subtle but deliberate—marks a deeper redefinition of purpose: the universal is being replaced by the selective.
A second cultural indicator can be seen in the new geography of mobility and connection. Airline routes, conference destinations, and art fairs provide a quiet cartography of power. Where the early 2000s saw global networks radiate from New York, London, and Hong Kong, today they converge in “neutral” hubs such as Istanbul, Dubai, and Doha. The aviation map tells a story of pragmatic connectivity: Western carriers have cut back on secondary Asian routes, while Middle Eastern airlines—Emirates, Qatar Airways, Turkish Airlines—now connect cities that otherwise exist in separate geopolitical spheres. Similarly, cultural events like film festivals, biennales, and design weeks increasingly take place in locations that can host participants from multiple systems without political friction. Singapore, Riyadh, and Sharjah have become such spaces of negotiated openness.
The flows of talent and education offer a third, more personal lens. For decades, studying or working in the “global North” was an aspirational default for the world’s young professionals. That assumption no longer holds. Western universities are reporting declining enrolment from China and Russia but rising numbers from India, the Gulf, and Africa. At the same time, universities in Asia and the Middle East—NUS Singapore, KAUST Saudi Arabia, NYU Abu Dhabi—are emerging as magnets for global faculty and students. The dream of cosmopolitan belonging is shifting eastward and southward, carried by a new generation who see opportunity not only in New York or Paris, but in Jakarta, Riyadh, or Nairobi. This reorientation of aspiration may be the most profound cultural sign of all.
The symbolic map of media and art also reflects the change. The dominance of Western capitals in global fashion, film, and music is eroding in favour of a more polycentric world. Korean pop culture, Nigerian cinema, Indian streaming dramas, and Gulf film festivals have become part of the mainstream of global culture. Riyadh’s investment in film and entertainment, Qatar’s sports diplomacy, or Seoul’s cultural exports illustrate how cities use soft power to claim visibility within their regional spheres—and sometimes far beyond. The global no longer has one accent.
Finally, there is the emotional geography of trust and belonging. The optimism that once defined the global city—its image as an open, tolerant, future-oriented space—has given way to a more cautious mood. Within many nations, large metropolitan areas are increasingly viewed with suspicion by their hinterlands, symbols of inequality or detachment. Internationally, global citizens no longer see the world as a seamless playground but as a terrain of uncertain borders and differentiated access. People still move, but they do so strategically: choosing not “the world’s city,” but their world’s city—one that feels safe, proximate, and politically predictable.
These cultural and perceptual indicators—language, routes, education, art, emotion—are the canaries in the coal mine of global urban transformation. They reveal how cities are redefining their identities before statistics do. When art fairs migrate from London to Dubai, when university partnerships shift from New York to Singapore, or when the word “global” quietly disappears from a city’s marketing campaign, it signals not just a change in branding, but a change in worldview.
For city leaders, this transformation demands strategic awareness. Economic resilience and urban diplomacy remain essential, but they must now be accompanied by cultural intelligence—an ability to read the mood of the global stage, to understand how the city is perceived, and to curate its identity accordingly. Cities that can speak multiple cultural and political “languages” will maintain influence; those that cling to a single narrative of universality may find themselves sidelined.
Globalization is not ending—it is reorganizing. The age of the “world city” is evolving into an age of “world parts”: interconnected but differentiated, open yet bounded. For cities and their leaders, success will depend not on belonging to the biggest network, but on navigating between many. Those that understand this shift not only in economics but in culture will define the next chapter of global urbanism.
Cover image created with the help of AI.
