PRESTON bus station was earmarked for demolition in 1999. Instead, last year, English Heritage added it to a list of protected buildings. The structure—a hulking piece of 1960s brutalism—is not to everyone’s taste. The inside evokes a municipal swimming pool, or perhaps an airport terminal. The outside resembles a stack of tin trays. “Uncomfortable,” says Peter Rankin, a city councillor, who opposed campaigns to save it, although he admits impressive views can be seen from the top.

Brutalism, an architectural style that emerged after the second world war, is fairly common but not popular in Britain. The sharply angled concrete blocks look dismal under cloudy skies. “They are sublime,” says Jonathan Meades, a documentary film maker, “not pretty, or friendly.” Brutalism also had the bad luck to be used in social housing estates, like London’s Robin Hood Gardens and Sheffield’s Park Hill, and so came to stand for urban decay. Revamping town centres tends to mean tearing down brutalist buildings. But those who want to save them are now making some headway.

In 2012 a “brutalism” category appeared on the World Monument Fund watch list. Last year English Heritage ran its first exhibition celebrating the style, and listed half a dozen or so brutalist buildings, depending on how they are classified. (The Economist’s London office tower, a kind of softened brutalism using fancy stone rather than concrete, was listed in 1988). Owen Hatherley, a writer specialising in architecture, says these structures are growing fashionable in London, where utilitarian blocks like the Balfron Tower now contain expensive flats. Catherine Croft, director of the Twentieth Century Society, says that Portsmouth’s Tricorn shopping centre, demolished in 2004, would probably be saved today.

In part, this is fashion’s long time lag. Some brutalist buildings are now old enough to be prized, just as Georgian and then Victorian houses came back into vogue. And the demolitions mean some have acquired scarcity value. English Heritage says that rarity is an important factor in deciding whether to protect a building.

Social media enables champions of brutalism to recruit more widely. A vigorous campaign took Preston bus station to the Lancashire Evening Post’s most popular building, and prominent supporters emerged, including Ed Vaizey, an MP. The fight now has a political edge, which has more people interested. Mr Hatherley sees it as a socialist battle. For Mr Meades it is a struggle against English snobbery: these buildings are the equal of any “frivolous” Georgian folly or any “eager to please” modern office block, he argues.

But this new sensibility has a cost. The unfinished concrete used in many brutalist buildings, intended to show the raw work of the labourer, does not bear damp well, so they can cost a lot to maintain. Many of these buildings, slated for demolition through their unfashionable years, have been neglected, making restoration pricey now. Worse, in 2012 VAT on listed-building alterations lost its zero rating, raising expenses even further. And many brutalist structures occupy prime development land in town centres. If brutalism is back, it will be an expensive taste.