The Different Dorms of the Princeton Campus

This article was originally published in the Nov. 19, 1974 issue of PAW.

Periodically, “On the Campus” reports on different styles of room furnishings. In 1964, the “On the Campus” reporter assured his readers that the introduction of standard university furniture has not stifled individuality, and asserted, “in such an age as ours, the Princeton dormitory is the last refuge of undergraduate individuality, if not elegance.” Today, a decade later, that assessment stands unchanged, but the categories of room décor listed in the 1964 column–such as the Bohemian, the Manorial and the Prince Albert–have to be reshuffled and changed. 

The major change, of course, is the addition of women’s rooms to our categories. But, surprisingly, while the introduction of women on campus has resulted in a host of sweeping changes covering many areas, their influence on room furnishings has apparently been small. Most women’s rooms I’ve seen have been remarkably similar: neat with chintz-fringed chairs and gaily patterned curtains and bedspreads (usually matching), and such frills as whatnot shelves with china plates and figurines, candelabra, and Dura-Flame type firewood instead of the real thing. 

Slightly off our topic, but still interesting, is the matter of women’s bathrooms: as opposed to men’s bathrooms, which are always bare except for a discarded jockstrap kicked in the corner, women’s are filled with drying lingerie on wooden stands, toothbrushes, towels, cosmetics, showercaps, and other paraphernalia, all left blithely unguarded. One should always be wary of drawing hasty generalizations, but it seems fair to deduce from the above that while Princeton women are not as imaginative in furnishing their rooms as Princeton men, they are much more trusting and trustworthy. 

To attempt a comprehensive categorization of other room styles would be presumptuous, but there are a few distinct types that stand out clearly above the messy morass of most university rooms. To start with the simplest, there is the Basic Room. This consists of four walls, a floor and ceiling, and the university-supplied furniture: a bed, desk and chair, and a dresser. Sometimes there is, as a concession to taste, a two-foot by four-foot rubber backed rug borrowed from a bathroom at home. The occupant of this room is generally a math or physics major and when the lack of individual expression in his room is pointed out to him, he will say with vague interest, “Oh, really?” and then immediately forget.

At the other end of the spectrum from the Basic Room is the Non-room Room, or the “Apartment.” The “Apartment” is located exclusively in Spelman Halls and derives its name from the kitchen and bathroom contained in each four-person suite, the wall-to-wall carpeting, and the tiny outdoor patio. It derives its quotation marks from the ubiquitous smoke detectors marking it unmistakably a Princeton dorm room, and the stylized students’ mess cluttering it. 

The Cellblock is another kind of room unique to the newer dorms, especially the New New Quad and the Princeton Inn Addition. These rooms are either long and narrow with stamp-sized windows (New New Quad) or small and square with walls actually composed of cement blocks (the Addition). Cellblock inhabitants are the ones who face up to the ambiance of their room squarely and instead of trying to hide it with tapestries and pictures, revel in the Attica-like atmosphere and hang big calendars, marking off each day with an “X,” scribble graffiti, and nail up cheesecake photos of Betty Grable.

The Booze Room has always been a college favorite, with its scarred bar, its omnipresent Johnnie Walker Red and Jack Daniels empties, and its mat of beer can tab-top rings taking up one wall. The really distinguished Booze Room has a blinking “Miller High Life” neon sign in the window or above the mantle (available in nearby New Hope, Pa., for $60 apiece). 

The Dope Room is a 1960’s addition to the list. A black light is a necessity, as is a quadraphonic stereo system system louder than the Nassau Hall bell, posters of San Francisco rock groups, cushions to sit on, a Dixie cup permanently covering the smoke detector, a collection of smoking devices ranging from the standard water pipe to five-foot high bongs and improvisations such as the famous Coke can pipe, joint-rolling machines, at least two dozen roach clips, and, finally, a collection of cookies, chips, candy bars and other “munchies” to rival Wawa’s. 

Always, there is the Locker Room Room, distinguished several doors away by its pleasing aroma of liniment, Desenex, and Old Spice cologne overlaying good, honest sweat (yes, even Princeton men sometimes, as horses, “sweat”). Enter this room carefully, for Ace bandages stretch like tripwires from unforeseen places and lacrosse balls are likely to fly suddenly from one bedroom across the living room to the other. Forgotten course books lie behind stacks of Sports Illustrated dating from Volume I Issue I, and accounts of three different games (in three different sports, of course) blare from strategically-placed transistor radios. 

Most students’ rooms do not fall neatly into any of these categories. Most of us have rooms that could be categorized as Make-Do Rooms, or, more simply, Messes. These rooms are characterized by ancient furniture and clanking refrigerators, threadbare rugs, clothes, and personal possessions strewn about, and a Centrex directory that can never be located. These rooms, instead of adhering to the dictates of any one style, reflect the personality of their inhabitants in a potpourri of furnishings that defy rational ordering and description. They are ample testimony to the continued viability of the “last refuge of undergraduate individuality.”