When I told friends that a dorm room was next on my quest to stay in a different Portland dwelling each week, they joked: What are you going to smuggle in? High thread count sheets?
Sure, my Baby Boomer generation believes we have earned our luxuries in life. But when we entered college, personalizing our little patch of dorm real estate meant tacking a few music posters to a cork board and – if we went crazy – dangling a swap meet macramé basket with an air fern over "borrowed" milk crates.
Today’s co-eds put us to shame. Having grown up with HGTV screening in the background and DIY geniuses in every home store, they know their chartreuse from their chifferobe.
At Lewis & Clark College where I am now, students buy tapestries of every shape, size and color at the Saturday Market. They fold them into a triangle and hang the ends to corner walls to create a cabana-like seating environment fit for an ecotourism adventure.
Pretty smart.
Residential halls are also a lot smarter these days. Energy reduction technology is engineered into every inch. Wind power provides electricity. Automatic switches turn down the heat when windows are open. And in the space-saving combo microfridge, if the microwave is popping away, the cooling side temporarily shuts off. Brilliant.
Getting an A for a cleantech campus is important to this generation that decides on a college based on its academic opportunities and sustainability. As one student told me, “We feel we have a very real impact on our environment.”
Here, recycling cans are part of the furniture in every dorm room and composting bins stand at the ready near the stainless-steel appliances in each floor’s kitchen.
Yet, there is still a place for style. Unlike my generation’s ho-hum faucets, water pours out of streamlined European-style spouts in kitchens and co-ed bathrooms. OK, I see your eyes widen. But walk past the mosaic wall entry into the shared bathroom and you’ll see there are individual shower and bathroom stalls.
In the LEED gold-rated hall where I'm staying, reclaimed fir and maple were selected for building materials and furnishings. Tree stumps are used as seating and fireplace surrounds. A can't-hurt-it coffee table was crafted from an old car hood.
I’m inspired. As I bite into my vegan apricot muffin in the dining hall – wait, where are the bubbling buckets of goo I had to eat? – I decide I should enroll in Lewis & Clark College to test my ability to decorate a small space on a small budget and make it express my worldview.
The National Retail Federation estimates that students spend about $110 on average spiffing up their dorm room. That figure seems low to me. But I guess smart shopping, access to mass-produced designer merchandise and multifunctional pieces like seat-table poufs help cut costs.
After all, in a bare-bones dorm room, all it really takes to make a personal statement is a bedspread, accent pillows that make the world’s narrowest twin bed look like a couch and enough sheets to sidestep the laundry room for a semester.
As a seasoned adult with lots of baggage, could I live in a space that is just a little larger than a VW camper van? If so, I need to come up with a plan. And soon. Because just like on TV, there’s an upcoming design competition here and I want to win with my Wow Factor.
Last year, Hunter Feiss nabbed first place for an uber efficient man cave in Howard Hall. Chest of drawers, clothes containers and a fridge were stored underneath elevated beds. Overhead, strategically positioned canvas straps stretched across the room to hold sports equipment. Old auto licenses plates and sport team flags served as artwork. (Other students put up removable decals or create they own art with washable markers on mirrors and windows.)
Rebecca Schulman of Hartzfeld Hall came in second with her British-themed décor and a bookshelf inches from her pillow.
Winning third place, Leann Kapp of Odell Hall wrapped a cord from the top end of her bedpost to the bottom, and hung a privacy-creating, lime-and-white curtain with pearl-like tiebacks. She tossed down an orange, red and pink area rug to complement her colorful bedding, and coiled light strings around a frame to sparkle up the walls.
Simple, practical, fun.
Despite the decades that separate us, I feel vaguely at home here. The students are engaging and appreciate their daily tree-lined walks past the historic brick buildings that represent a sense of permanency needed when living in a temporary home.
In my short time here, I clashed only once with a co-ed. Sniffing around in the swank lounge next to my room, I said that the air smelled like pizza and/or hot cardboard. The co-ed politely offered a different opinion. To her younger nose, there was a distinct scent of barbecue sauce. We agreed to disagree, then parted ways.
Maybe I can’t stay here forever, but I will be able to smuggle something out and it is this piece of wisdom: All you need for cleaning supplies are Clorox wipes for dirt and used dryer sheets for dust.
Simple, practical, fun.
-- Janet Eastman
Janet Eastman, The Oregonian's design reporter, is on a quest to spend time in each of Portland's almost 100 officially recognized neighborhoods. So far she has slept in all five corners of the city, from a tugboat on the Columbia River and a downtown penthouse to a Rummer modern in southwest and an artist loft in the east side (not to mention volunteer stays in jail, an ICU ward and a former funeral parlor). See all the Sleeping in Portland columns and photos.