Campus Life

Squid vs. Whale

The Best Bachelor Pad of All Time

You did it! You graduated! And now this fall you are going to leave MIT and enter the world as a man. That’s right. Class of 2009, bitches. Think of all that lies ahead of you. A new apartment, rocking the lower middle class with your entry-level salary. On your own now, limitless possibilities, unbounded awesomeness. Moving to the big city, impressing the ladies with your status, you professional auteur. Isn’t this exciting?

I’ve seen the apartment you picked out, and I gotta say, I approve. Good layout, good location. You have access to a hot tub, chicks will definitely dig that. But we gotta do something that will set you apart from all those other cool/attractive dudes straight outta college. You are not one of the young, professional sheeple. You are more than a handsome guy donning business-casual slacks. No, listen to me. We are going to maximize your individual expression where it counts. We’re going to fix you up one hell of a badass bachelor pad.

Here’s what we do. You got a good space. The rent’s not bad. Definitely one of the better units in the complex. Now we work with that.

First, that lighting has got to go. From now on you are a man of indirect lighting. The vibrant interplay of light and shadow will make you look mysterious. It will say, “I am tired of living in an institution, I am my own man, look at my modular track lighting.” ($200 at

Then, it’s all about the bar. I saw this great one on It’s a little pricey, but you will look like the man of the hour when you start serving up Mai Tais behind this bad boy. Most of the girls you meet only know the red end of a Solo cup. But you — you, my man — will serve them cocktails in real glassware. Real glassware! You’ll have fresh limes in the accompanying mini-fridge ($150 at Bed, Bath, and Beyond). You will know how to make up to 6 cocktails, including the Fuzzy Navel. Want a Bellini? You got it. Anything is possible.

As for furniture, minimalism is the key. Minimalism speaks volumes. It’s like Fight Club. It says you are not tied down to this place, you are not the sum total of your furniture, you are not your decadently simplistic Ikea Breakfast Bar ($499, — which I think you should put near the window. When you’re a minimalist you’re living right on the edge. You bring a girl home, she says, “why no furniture?”, you say, “Because, baby, I’m just like that. I think I might pack up tomorrow and leave this droll town. I’ve been thinking of fall in the French Riviera. I’m spontaneous, I don’t know what comes next, that’s how much of a free spirit I am.”

Oh, and you will work entirely at a standing desk ($699 Restoration Hardwood) because you are a man’s man and doing your bills sitting down is for pansies.

Last, but not least, you need a signature piece. We’re not in college anymore — that poster of two girls kissing has got to go. Instead, try a statue, or a piece of art. I know it’s hard, but you have to find something that will encapsulate the sum total of your awesomeness. Avoid black and white photography and/or framed expressionist prints. These are for the middle class.

Having trouble? Think of this signature piece as an appetizer to the inner you. Visitors will look at it and ponder your eccentric taste. Combine it with the orgy of self-expression that is your apartment, and they’ll be clamoring for the main course that is your subtle and multifaceted personality.

I recommend mounting that Aboriginal head mask you got from that time we did study abroad in Australia. That was such a life changing experience. Remember when we went to the Outback and they served us insects for dinner? So completely in-your-face badass. Fuck that, man. Once you put up that mask, you don’t even need all the other stuff. I mean, how many other guys can say they’ve lived in Australia?