Recently, while reading the New York Times online I came across Julie Scelfo’s Window Watchers in a City of Strangers, and was reminded of just how different life even in an urban Midwestern setting can be from that of an East or West Coast city. Scelfo discusses the nature of window watching one’s high rise neighbors and seems to be commenting ultimately that window watching in New York City is a manifestation of urban planning, architecture, and city culture through human agency: the act of watching, or choosing not to watch.
Included in the article is a project, Out my Window NYC composed by Gail Albert Halaban, a window watcher.
My attention was drawn to this article because my time living in the residence halls at Ball State, in the La Follette Complex provided me with a similar experience which pails in comparison to those instances Scelfo and Halaban have shared, but none the less have changed how I lived and acted as governed by my space. La Follete, unlike other residence halls on campus is composed of four adjacent halls— each towering over the buildings on campus at nine stories high. The four halls are interconnected by dining and offices in the center of the complex, but in a sense stand alone. Each hall is an “L”; and so, much like city dwellers did, I myself had many experiences peering into windows and being peered upon. My roommate and I not only had neighbors to the left and right, but around the entire side of the hall out our window. We knew some of these neighbors, but as the year progressed we became more and more intrigued by our upstairs and downstairs neighbors’ lives as framed by their windows. This is what Karen L. Fingerman according to Scelfo’s article would deem a “vital anonymous connection” and “a sense of emotional stability.” And too think, it was the ghastly “L” 1960s architecture which provided my roommate and me with these experiences of togetherness with our neighbors. At one point, we watched as our downstairs across the way neighbors assembled their loft in front of a window, clearly a fire code violation. Just three days later, before a break when the Resident Assistant made rounds they were reported. And so my roommate and I happened to catch them disassembling the same loft. We were entertained. We laughed and they waved to us… ok they actually made a derogatory gesture. Clearly, we were communicating.
According to Scelfo, this practice of silent communication is extremely common in urban settings. In fact it is a trend which is discursive I contest may even redefine or add a new layer to my peer’s working definition of discourse: language in use. These silent exchanges, according to Dr. Calvin Morril, editor of Together Alone: Personal Relationships in Public Places, “ Simply looking our your apartment window and seeing other humans doing an activity in a consistent way and at a similar time can provide stability and support” he deems our daily lives “. . . a kind of reassurance” for our neighbors. Scelfo compares window watching to the entertainment reality TV crazed US citizens crave.
Naturally, human agency surfaces with regard to nudity which comes up in this discussion. Surprisingly, a variety of cultural norms dictate window watchers actions. While some follow the Friends “Ugly Naked Guy” sitcom mentality of watching, this is not consistent across the board. One woman comments in Scelfo’s article “The woman who lives there [across from her apartment] often wears nothing but underwear. So I try not to look.” Despite isolation from the rest of society, these window watchers face dilemmas. Another comments on strangers in the heat of the moment who according to Scelfo one man chooses to ignore: this has become mundane.
Because my roommate and I cought an eye full more than once, we closed our curtains to maintain our own privacy. While this seems like common sense, I sensed that for many residents who were not used to living in such close and intimate quarters it took an embarrassing moment to alter their agency in their rooms. What is most interesting to me then is the manner in which the “L” shape of the dorm served as means for us to seek privacy, and to say to our neighbors when our curtains were open, “Here go ahead and watch. Be a part of our lives.”
