When famed mid-century designer Alexander Girard was a child, he didn’t just imagine a world—he built one. His pencil traced the outlines of streets and buildings but  also the fabric of an entire civilization, the Republic of Fife. This world had its own economy, where currency wasn’t merely practical but artistic, crafted to reflect a shared culture. The air carried scents—fresh rain mingling with wildflowers, the salty breeze from a distant sea. Streets buzzed with the chatter of life, and public squares thrummed with the laughter of children and the hum of everyday interactions. Even the rituals of this world were deliberate, designed to bring rhythm and meaning to daily life.

Girard’s experiment wasn’t just about the visible—it was about how people would live, feel, and experience their environment. It reflected a belief he would carry throughout his life: design isn’t merely what you see—it’s how it makes you feel.

A Vision for More than Buildings

Campus planning, in many ways, mirrors Girard’s dream writ large. Like the Republic of Fife, a campus isn’t simply a collection of buildings—it’s a living, breathing place where life unfolds. And, as Girard knew, the essence of any great place isn’t confined to its physical structures but lies in the experience it creates for the people who inhabit it.

Imagine approaching campus planning the way Girard designed his world. Pathways aren’t just routes—they’re invitations to connect, converse, and reflect. Open spaces aren’t empty—they’re opportunities for life to unfold. Just as Girard designed his world to engage the senses, a campus can be crafted to evoke feelings through sensory details:

• The scent of fresh-cut grass and blooming flowers near the library.
• The sound of footsteps echoing in a quiet quad at dusk.
• The warmth of sunlight filtering through tree-lined paths.

Girard understood that what surrounds us shapes us. A campus planner must think beyond bricks and mortar to craft spaces that invite curiosity, nurture relationships, and inspire new ideas. Just as Girard’s imaginary civilization had places where people gathered to share stories and ideas, a campus should have spaces where students can pause, linger, and engage in the kinds of conversations that spark new ways of thinking.

Designing for the Senses

Girard’s childhood world brimmed with sensory detail because he knew that experiences aren’t shaped by sight alone. The scent of a place, the soundscape of a street, even the texture of surfaces underfoot—all contribute to how people feel.

In campus planning, those same elements matter. A truly great campus isn’t just about functional spaces; it’s about creating an environment that engages the senses and foster learning, community, and belonging.

Sound: What do students hear as they walk from one building to the next? Is it the peaceful rustle of leaves? The cheerful buzz of conversation spilling out of common areas?

Smell: What scents define the campus at different times of the year? The fresh aroma of pine after a winter rain? The comforting smell of coffee wafting from the student center?

Touch: How do the materials of the campus feel—smooth stone benches warmed by the sun, the rough bark of old oaks?

Girard’s philosophy teaches us that attention to these details matter—it’s what turns a place into an experience. In the same way he imagined rituals for his civilization, campus planners must think about the rhythms of life on campus: the quiet moments of reflection in a garden, the energy of a bustling quad during class changes, the warmth of a gathering hall during a community event.

A Place Where Life Happens

Girard’s Republic of Fife wasn’t static—it was alive, constantly shaped by the people within it. Similarly, a campus is never truly finished; it’s a place where life unfolds, where students learn, grow, and create lasting memories. Thoughtful campus planning means designing spaces that can evolve while always fostering a sense of connection.

In Girard’s world, streets led to places of meaning, spaces invited gathering, and rituals gave life its rhythm. A well-planned campus should do the same—guiding students along pathways that lead not just to classrooms, but to discovery. It should have spaces that invite spontaneous conversation, where students can pause between classes and exchange ideas that change how they see the world. And it should nurture traditions—rituals that define the identity of the institution and offer students a shared experience they carry with them long after they leave.

Great Places Happen Intentionally

Girard’s childhood exercise in world-building wasn’t merely a game—it was a profound act of imagination. He showed that creating meaningful places requires attention to every element, from the grandest structures to the smallest details.

Campus planning, at its best, follows the same principles. It’s not about placing buildings on a map or a site plan—it’s about creating a world where people feel connected, inspired, and alive. The best campuses, like Girard’s imagined civilization, happen intentionally. They are designed with care, their sensory experiences and interactions thoughtfully planned to create a feeling, a memory, a story.

Girard understood that places shape people. In campus planning, this truth endures: design thoughtfully, and you don’t just build a campus—you create a world where students thrive. These places leave indelible marks on those who pass through them because, as Girard’s childhood dream reminds us, the best places aren’t merely seen—they are felt, lived, and remembered.