A Hostile Use of Color
Dystopian architecture on campus and beyond
BY DANIELLE CROOM
On a quick jaunt around campus and its surrounding areas, there is a generous breadth of architectural styles to be seen: Northrop Auditorium boasts ionic columns, the Armory is reminiscent of Norman castle design, and the Weisman Art Museum has an iconic Gehry facade. And of course, Dinkytown and Marcy-Holmes still host a smattering of brownstone walkup apartments and craftsman style houses. But more and more often, new developments are made in the nearby neighborhoods, accommodating the need for student housing.
When thinking about dystopian architecture on and around campus, most people might jump to the plethora of 60’s brutalism, mostly committed by Ralph Rapson (for whom the architecture school’s building is named). There are also several structures that act as potential underground bunkers, like the Civil Engineering building, which was constructed in the 80’s with the fear that oil energy would soon run out. Now, I feel victimized by the psychological warfare that is Rarig Center as much as the average theatre major, but the real dystopia is being built in this decade. Along 4th street in Dinkytown, cookie cutter apartments tower blockishly. Turquoise, teal and sometimes orange accent their sickly smooth faces, sometimes “amplified” by corrugated metal if they’re feeling really fancy. Other than their dull design, what all these buildings have in common is their construction price. This style of architecture (though I’m reluctant to even call it such) utilizes the cheapest materials in order to charge the highest rent, lining the pockets of yet another landlord. Slap a coat of paint on fiber cement siding and voila, an extra $200 per tenant.
While the pandemic has perhaps exacerbated the cutting of corners due to increased material and transportation costs, the trend of fast-fashion apartments has been growing for the past 14 years. Like many things in the lives of Gen Z students, it all goes back to the 2008 financial crisis and subsequent recession. Follow me on a quick tangent for a moment and I’ll explain the connection.
The place: Seattle, Washington. The year: 2009. Amazon, founded by Jeff Bezos in 1995, is still a mid-size company, pulling in just over $1 billion for the first time in 2008. After surviving the dotcom crash of 2000, Amazon was slowly trundling its way towards profitability, being one of the few companies that were able to take proper advantage of the internet. But the economy was in shambles, especially in Seattle; Microsoft, Boeing and Starbucks were all experiencing massive turmoil that left thousands of people jobless. Washington Mutual Bank was a pile of steaming rubble and my ‘baby’s first bank account’ silently changed hands without my knowing. As you can see, there was something of a power vacuum in the economy, and Amazon began to fill that gap, expanding rapidly over the next five years. The company strategically underpriced goods to outsell and eventually buy out competitors, exhibiting classic monopoly tactics. With this rapid expansion continuing into the mid-to-late 2010’s, more and more people moved to Seattle exclusively for the tantalizing promise of Amazon corporate jobs. The city needed more housing – and fast. Thus, the sleek and cheap modular apartment buildings were born.
No matter how efficient and modern they were, these buildings proved to be problematic in regards to residential zoning. Two-thirds of Seattle is zoned as single family residential, meaning there is not a lot of space where apartments can be built. Concentrating quick builds in those areas exacerbates the eye sore because it becomes easily noticeable how similar the buildings are. Minneapolis, by allowing duplexes and triplexes in previously single-family zones, has not yet suffered the same fate, but the density required around a college campus with such a large student body has already pushed construction in that direction.
This is not to say that architecture in this style is inherently bad. Its low construction cost can be paid forward by building realistically affordable housing or senior living for a less-than-exorbitant fee. The problem is that most of these buildings are still incredibly expensive to live in. To many people, the pop-up of such shiny new apartments is a sign that whoever lives in the neighborhood will be priced out within the next five years.
My personal worries come not only from the cost of living, but also the structural integrity of these buildings. They are the fundamental definition of quantity over quality. Although this is one of the better options in the area, I’ve been lost in the labyrinthine hallways of the Venue at Dinkytown, walls snaking in odd shapes to make sure each bedroom has a window and can therefore be rented as such. I’ve listened through the paper thin walls, toured the rooms that are hardly a step up from a dorm. But when I walk down 4th avenue, I can’t help but imagine what these buildings will look like in ten, twenty years. Would they survive a tornado? A hurricane? With the state of our environment as is, I feel that no natural disaster can be ruled out. Will I mourn their demise, the white paneling and black steel trim? Will they gain their sentimental value with time and age, just as their brick and shingle predecessors before? Who knows, maybe half of them will be torn down and replaced by an even quicker, cheaper and uglier style and then I’ll long for the days of fiber concrete and a pop of color.
In the 20th century, dystopian architecture meant something like Rarig Center or the Civil Engineering Building – something meant to withstand whatever apocalypse it faced, whether it be because it’s solid concrete or because it stretches hundreds of feet below ground level. But today, we face a different kind of dystopia. The apocalypse is a slow moving creature, sluggish and lazy. It erodes our ability to care, our empathy and joy. Numbness is dystopian, nihilism is dystopian, now is dystopian. No teal accent color will make me forget the people who struggle to pay rent each month. No amenities will fill the void left by the lack of public infrastructure.
When I walk down 4th street, I see the post-apocalyptic shell of each apartment building: electric wires dangling perilously from exposed beams, the walls having finally given way to the elements, its cut corners naked and obvious. But I also see them as they are: overpriced, uncreative, factories of income for a careless landlord, and funded by the already financially strained student population. And to me, that is worse.
Sources
https://archive.curbed.com/2018/12/4/18125536/real-estate-modern-apartment-architecture
https://commonedge.org/architecture-aesthetic-moralism-and-the-crisis-of-urban-housing/
https://www.seattlemet.com/news-and-city-life/2009/02/defying-the-recession-amazoncom