Chicago boasts one of the world’s great skylines. Poised on the shore of Lake Michigan, the compact centre springs abruptly from the great, flat plains of the Midwest, its glittering skyscrapers testament to the desire to go one better and build the next higher than the last. It is a symbol of human achievement and, more specifically, a tribute to the initiative of one man, Major William Le Baron Jenney.

In 1885 Jenney gave Chicago the world’s first skyscraper, the Home Insurance Building, which rose 10 storeys. It pioneered a new structural form that others would adopt and use to scale heights still unimaginable at the end of the 19th century. Without Jenney, there would be no Empire State Building, and therefore no iconic photos of builders eating lunch on girders high above New York as their creation reached up to the clouds. King Kong would not have swatted planes from its summit, nor would Spider-Man have swung past en route to the cavernous streets of Lower Manhattan.

Before Jenney’s revolutionary blueprint, all buildings were designed with load-bearing masonry walls. Taller structures, which were heavier, needed thicker supporting walls, and beyond six or seven storeys the breadth of wall became impractical. Jenney realised that, to break through this limit, an entirely new approach was needed and so, abandoning the established model, he turned the structure inside out. His new building would be constructed around an internal steel frame designed to support the walls and everything they contained. It was the architectural equivalent of the human body, a building supported from the inside by its skeleton.

The city authorities were unconvinced and stopped construction several times to check the safety of the structure, but eventually it was accepted that Jenney knew what he was doing. Other architects were quick to follow his lead, populating the skies of Chicago and New York with skyscrapers and defining for many the image of America.

Jenney’s feat of engineering came at an opportune time. Cities were growing rapidly and, at the tail end of the Industrial Revolution, service industries were in the ascendancy and office space was at a premium. Both rents and demand were high, justifying the expense of building upwards, and there were plenty of thriving companies that wanted to be at the heart of things, close to the banks and other services that oil the wheels of business.

Capitalism was gearing up for the 20th century, and as the great names in business sought ways of demonstrating their power and wealth, skyscrapers became a physical rendering of the entrepreneurial ego. Size certainly mattered, and as the century progressed competition became so fierce that disputes began to emerge between rival buildings. The World Trade Center in New York was taller than the Sears Tower in Chicago, but only by virtue of its extra-long radio antenna, which some considered unsporting. So, following the model of heavyweight boxing, the title was split into several categories. One includes masts and antenna, one does not and a third measures only to the highest occupied floor.

Whichever method is used, the initiative is now shifting away from the United States. The competition may have kicked off in Chicago, but home advantage is ebbing away as the youthful economies of the east begin to throw up rivals. The Petronas Towers in Malaysia enjoyed a brief stint at the top of the table before being overtaken by the Taipei 101 building in Taiwan in 2003. As the world economy continues to evolve and capital flows away from south-east Asia towards China, the skyscrapers are following the money. At the dawn of what many believe will be the Chinese century, Shanghai has more than 2,000 buildings that exceed 152 metres (500 ft), the official cut-off point for skyscrapers. London has only nine.

But even our own capital is cottoning on to Jenney’s innovation, albeit a century late, and adding a few peaks to its rambling, low-rise skyline. For decades London seemed willing to attempt only one tall building at a time before suffering a crisis of confidence and scurrying back to ground level. Now, with the success of the Swiss Re Gherkin and the Millennium Wheel, the city has a few more surprises up its sleeve.

None will come close to challenging the current title holders, or their likely successors, and even the boldest of today’s prototypes threatens to exhaust the potential of Jenney’s 120-year-old idea. Shortly before his death, Frank Lloyd Wright drew up designs for a 500-storey steel-framed tower in which visitors would be whisked to the top in nuclear-powered lifts. It was an embodiment of the words spoken by one of Jenney’s apprentices, Daniel Burnham. “Make no little plans. They have no magic to stir men’s blood,” he said. “Make big plans.”