One thing I have always found so odd about college is the accepted suspension of morals, style, poor use of time, and a general "get out of jail free" attitude that 95% of college students take on for four (sometimes more, I went to school in Boulder after all) years. Lifestyle/ personal style we would not accept in a grown-up world is perfectly acceptable and even sought after. I always think back to my freshman year dorm room and the rooms of my fellow hallmates. My roommate and I liked to think of ours as one of the cuter rooms, but we still managed to have a "vintage" Martini and Rossi Italian poster:
And I'm pretty sure there was a lava lamp on Amy's desk. We had matching bedspreads which were actually pretty cute and army green.
Hallmates had the following: furry high-lighter colored pillows, bongs, plastic shelving units. Their posters held any number of the following: Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, Anne Geddes' creepy flower babies, Bob Marley with the world's biggest blunt, Dali's Persistance of Memory, and last but not least, this one:
College is where I learned a lot of things, and where, thankfully, by the end of four years I started to really understand what makes a space feel good. I have always been interested in spaces, and I remember my parents giving me a budget to design my own room when I moved rooms within our house in high school. Still, the beginning of college let's you forget all about this. Eventually I had in my own crunchy way begun to rediscover design. While some people I knew were fine with fluorescent lighting and couches from the street, I did my best with a modest budget to use floor lamps, cover those disgusting reused couches with slipcovers, and hang twinkly lights for that soft hippie glow. My senior year roommate and I rearranged our living room for better spatial function for (obviously) keg parties. I have to say, it changed the room completely. She always said this is when she knew I would end up in interior design. Too funny, and all for a keg party.
Still, as I sit here listening to Led Zeppelin for old times sake, a little part of me misses this, uh, distinctly styled part of my life. New York is an onslaught of style from day one, which is one of the reasons I love it. I can find vintage, modern, used, new, antique, kitsch, anything. I am glad to have outgrown my college self (aren't we all?), and think of that time as a "how not to behave or dress or design" period most of the time. But without the fleece vest-wearing, bad poster-hanging, keg beer-drinking past, I don't think I'd have the appreciation for the amazing design in this savvy, urban, hip environment called New York, or for the advancement of personal post-collegiate style. Here's to being a grown-up!