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In the early days of modern architecture, its alien forms were sold to the public using science. Architect Richard Neutra's "Health House" - designed and built between 1927-29 for physician Philip Lovell in the Griffith Park neighbourhood of Los Angeles - was featured in newspapers and magazines all over the world.

Mr. Neutra's four-storey, steel-framed and stucco-clad house was graceful in the way it clung to its hillside site. But far outweighing any discussion of architectural merit were reports of its fresh-air sleeping porches, large areas of glass (to allow life-giving sunlight to penetrate), exercise and sports areas and the water-purification and juicing facilities in the kitchen.

Even before that, in 1923, architect Le Corbusier wrote: "A house is a machine for living in."

This now-legendary idea and the other, equally radical ones put forth in his book, Vers une architecture (Toward an Architecture), would resonate over the next few decades.

Indeed, Mr. Neutra often spoke and wrote about his admiration for the assembly line techniques of auto maker Henry Ford. Even into the early 1950s, science- and health-related facts were trotted out when promoting modern architecture, especially when comparing new suburban housing developments to inner-city slums.

Appealing to the public's logical left-brain, it was hoped, would eventually lead to an appreciation by the artistic right-brain.

This happened, finally, by the mid-1950s, as the public grew tired of the charts and graphs and decided living in a machine was no longer appealing. The market responded, and what was used to sell modern architecture - whether to captains of industry or kings and queens of suburbia - was sex, or to be more specific, sexiness in the form of fantasy.

A scan of home-builder literature, announcements of new corporate headquarters and, especially, one-off "dream home" brochures of the late-1950s and 1960s present a layperson's utopia of relaxation and luxury rather than clinical, hard science.

A brochure for "Vision/62" - a dream home with a geodesic-domed living room that was actually built by Shipp Corp. on Nocturne Court in Mississauga - is a good example. It stresses the "sheer delight and freedom" to be experienced by the "space-age family" under the dome rather than the boring process of constructing it. (Much to the chagrin of architect Harry B. Kohl, no doubt, who'd been experimenting with geodesic domes and would design a bunch of them for Texaco as Highway 401 rest-stops.)

Today, the "green" movement is in a similar predicament and, I suspect, will stagnate if the general public continues to be bombarded with scientific facts, figures and, sometimes, scare tactics to steer it onto the righteous and verdant path. In other words, until we're told why it's sexy, we won't budge.

At a well-intentioned public meeting last week at Metro Hall - "Moving toward net-zero energy" hosted by WaterfrontAction - I learned a great deal from presenters Derek Satnik of Mindscape Innovations, Ron Mazza of Read Jones Christoffersen Consulting Engineers, Mark Salerno from Canada Mortgage and Housing Corp., and home builder John Godden of Clearsphere. But my eyes glazed over at the same old charts, graphs and statistics, while I pined for some strategy to sell sustainability to the public.

While the information on current green technologies and the goal of net-zero emissions (both during and after construction) was remarkable, I couldn't help but draw parallels to the modernists of old. While discussing the Pearl River Tower in Guangzhou, China, a project by Chicago-based architectural firm Skidmore Owing and Merrill, Mr. Mazza enthusiastically pointed out that it was "the first building I know of that's actually designed like an automobile; it is designed like a machine."

Later, during Mr. Godden's talk - which touched on subjects as diverse as Energy Star ratings and a fascinating sustainable housing development in East Gwillimbury, Ont. - he admitted that although "90 per cent of us want to buy houses that are energy efficient," builders have no clue how to market them.

"Magically, when it comes to something that is good for the environment and saves people money, nobody tries to sell it, so it's a little bit of a conundrum," Mr. Godden said.

I'll say. Lots of valuable information was brought forth at the meeting: that the increasing demand for housing in the Greater Toronto Area can be met without increasing CO{-2} emissions; that "dirty" countries can "buy" carbon credits from "clean," overachieving countries; that Toronto's water system is our biggest energy hog.

But it's too bad it was heard by only a dozen people, not the general, house-buying public.

(And all the attendees were over the age of 50 except for me. Where were all the twentysomethings who wear environmentalism like a badge of honour?)

Green is smart and smart is sexy, so why not sell that?

There is no doubt in my mind that green, sustainable architecture is our collective future, and I'd love to think my water heater will draw its power from rooftop solar panels sooner rather than later. But if it takes the greens as long as the early modernists to shift marketing gears from science to sex, we'll all be waiting a very long time.