Upon seeing my new apartment for the first time, the stench of
the living room’s design was overwhelming.
A computer desk sat in one corner, obscuring the only potted
plant in the room. The other wall was flanked by a moped just
sitting there, as if at a parking meter. The empty carpet stared at
the ceiling with stains. On the wall hung a diagram of a big red
molecule, because, God forbid, a painting or poster might have
looked too nice. Hanging out was not an option here, because
hanging out had been banned by design.
To unravel the enigma of the room design, I located the only
piece of wall art (if you could call it that). It was a white sheet
of paper taped on the wall, no doubt by the same perpetrator of the
design of the rest of the room, with the typed text,
“Geometric Electron Enervation Kinetics.” That
phrase’s acronym neatly described the awkward imbalance of it
all. Almost on cue, I later discovered the room was a product of an
astrophysics student (typical South Campus).
I understand it’s all about functionality. I’m all
for functionality. But walking into that every day must do
something to the psyche. Just as lecture halls should be designed
for optimal lecturing and movie theaters designed for optimal
viewing and hearing, so too should rooms, whether they be dorms or
apartments, be designed for optimal living.
Let’s dissect, shall we? The moped takes away space from
the room while adding nothing. The desk makes the living room seem
more like personal, not social, space, rejecting the idea of having
company over for a drink. Even the red circular molecule makes the
white wall look like the Japanese flag, the symbol of cramped Tokyo
living. Whether or not this was intentional is a question only a
geek can properly avoid.
It’s a cruel trick of natural selection the smell of feces
causes grimaces but a malodorous room decor remains unable to
induce the fight or flight response. We tolerate sitting in ugly
rooms, surviving while the bright florescent lights and blank walls
grind down our sanity. Dogs live off smell (and sometimes off feces
too), but people are now much more visually-oriented, watching
television and movies, and controlling video games and computer
screens. It is with a small measure of optimism that I believe our
new visual skill provides us with greater sensitivity to how our
rooms look.
With the dorms, all you get are four walls and you sit and look
at them. But a random sample of a residential hall will reveal that
no two rooms are decorated and arranged the same way. I’ve
seen my friends turn their dorm room into two separate rooms,
divided by the bunked beds floating in the center. You could be in
the “inner room” and almost have the sense of privacy,
which dorm life seeks to devour.
Compare this to a nerd room, created typically to require no
maintenance (that would interrupt a compelling Counterstrike
mission). To this end, rooms are constructed to have small
claustrophobic spaces to provide further tunnel vision into
what’s not outside the window. Rather than privacy or
comfort, it’s more like a war room with the living room as
yet another repository for things not immediately needed.
Geek culture may respond that a room’s art design is
superficial and unnecessary. Visitors are coming to see you, not
your room.
This is incorrect. Visitors are not visiting you but your living
environment, or else why not go hang out at a coffee shop. As bad
as it is, Starbucks is still a rather charming place to meet with
people.
If the room is intolerable, then visually you are describing
yourself as an intolerable person. If you don’t have a couch,
you’re telling visitors, “Please don’t come and
sit for a while on our non-couch.” If the room’s
elements (furniture, paintings, etc.) are sparse and set at angles,
it may suggest motion and lightness and can help you become attuned
to busy college life. These “superficial” design
elements create and define, rather than impede, the room’s
substance.
After some redesign to my nightmarish living room, a couch
replaces the moped, an entertainment center replaces the desk, the
plant can actually get sunlight, and on the formerly blank carpet
sits a mahogany coffee table with magazines. Now people will come.
Oh, yes, people will come.