Beton Brut Diary of Genex Tower 

Concrete isn’t supposed to be pretty, right? But gaze upon the might of Genex Tower for one second, and you’ll rethink that. It’s not delicate, it’s not charming — it’s this massive, raw slab of brutalism that makes you stop and look at it. Almost feel like staring at the sun in a sense. This unapologetic hulking mass of concrete, looms over Belgrade like a forgotten relic of a dystopian future that never happened—bummer. 

The beauty? Lies in the honesty of it. Hard angles, exposed materials, and that undeniable sense of power. Brutalism at its finest. And honestly, there’s something kind of rebellious about that. In a world obsessed with gloss and polish, Genex wears its rawness like a badge.

First, a quick nod to Mihajlo Mitrović, the architect behind the madness. This was 1977, the height of Yugoslavia’s post-war socialist optimism—or was it existential dread? Mitrović, a modernist to his core, wasn’t interested in making things pretty. Oh no, he was about function, purpose, and raw expression. Very much influenced by the post-war state of Yugoslavia, the Genex building is like the Jesus statue of brutalist socialist Yugoslavia.

You could say the Genex Tower is brutalism in all its muscular, geometric glory —if you’re into that sort of thing. Apart from its looks it also has a personality. But let’s be formalistic for a second, judicial shock is coming towards Genex way. Two massive forms stand before us, locked in an industrial embrace, joined by a dramatic bridge and a rotating restaurant that never rotated… The towers don’t care if you find them attractive, which makes them super cool. There’s something to discover in the raw bluntness —cool people call it beton brut— in the sheer confidence of not giving a damn about charm, Genex Tower has the same attitude of a high school bully from any Netflix show. It’s like the building dares you to find it ugly, and you might—but in that rejection, you kind of fall for it. Magic, I know…

Now, sure, people have their criticisms. Brutalism has always been polarizing, and the Genex Tower’s slowly decaying exterior isn’t exactly everyones cup of tea. Nor the ghosts of past living inside of the building. Leave anything to time and watch it peel it to pieces. In our case Genex faces time and vandalism at the same time. Which honestly adds a wabi-sabi type of edge to it. 

The fact remains still, it’s a piece of history and a symbol for fragmented Yugoslavian dreams shaped as a cold, lonely monument. It’s a statement — about strength, resilience, and the unfiltered beauty of concrete left to speak for itself. And there’s something oddly poetic in that, isn’t there? In a world obsessed with making things pretty, refined, and polished, the Genex Tower remains as is— heavily raw. A true deviant by nature.