Hey everyone, welcome back to My Weird Prompts! I am Corn, and I am joined as always by my brother.
Herman Poppleberry, ready to dive into the deep end of the pool today.
It is a good thing you are ready, because we actually have a special prompt this week. It is not from our housemate Daniel, but from his wife, Hannah! She is also living here with us in Jerusalem, and she is an architect with a really fascinating project on her plate.
I love when Hannah sends stuff in. She is always thinking about the intersection of physical space and the human experience. It is very much in her wheelhouse to look at the world and ask, how does this building actually make me feel? And being here in Jerusalem, that question feels even more weighted. This is a city of heavy stone, intense history, and very high sensory input.
Exactly. It is a high-arousal environment, as the scientists might say. And Hannah is currently working on a new hotel concept with her business partner, who is an interior designer. They are looking into something called neuro-design or neuro-architecture. Hannah mentioned she knows a bit about fractals and nature patterns, but she wants us to really peel back the layers on how this field can be used to improve mental health through design. She wants to know how to create a space that is not just a place to sleep, but a place that actually heals the nervous system.
This is such a burgeoning field, Corn. It is where neuroscience meets the drafting table. For a long time, architecture was mostly about aesthetics, function, and maybe a bit of intuition about what feels good. We had these grand theories from the Renaissance or the Bauhaus, but they were based on philosophy, not biology. But now, as of February two thousand twenty-six, we are actually getting the hard data to back up those intuitions. We are moving from I think this room feels cozy to we can see the cortisol levels dropping and the heart rate variability improving when someone enters this specific type of space.
That is the part that fascinates me. The shift from subjective art to objective science. So, Herman, for Hannah and her partner, let’s start with the basics. What exactly is neuro-design when we move past the buzzwords?
At its core, neuro-design is the study of how the environment affects our brain and body. It is based on the idea that our brains are constantly, mostly subconsciously, scanning our surroundings for threats or rewards. Our ancestors evolved on the African savannah, right? So, our brains are still hardwired to prefer certain environmental features that meant survival back then. Neuro-architecture, which really started gaining steam with the formation of the Academy of Neuroscience for Architecture back in two thousand three, uses tools like functional magnetic resonance imaging, or F-M-R-I, and even mobile E-E-G caps to measure how people react to spaces in real time.
So, instead of just guessing that a high ceiling makes you feel free, they are actually putting people in V-R headsets or even physical mock-ups and measuring their brain activity?
Precisely. They are looking at things like the amygdala, which is the brain’s alarm system, and the hippocampus, which handles navigation and memory. If a space is confusing or feels closed-in, the amygdala might fire up, creating a low-level stress response. This is what we call the fight or flight mode. If a space is well-designed according to neuro-principles, it can trigger the release of oxytocin or dopamine, and more importantly, it can activate the parasympathetic nervous system—the rest and digest mode. It is about designing for the nervous system rather than just for the eyes.
Hannah mentioned fractals. I know we have touched on this in passing before, but how do fractals specifically play into this neuro-design framework? Why does the brain care about repeating patterns?
It is called the fractal fluency hypothesis, and it is one of the most robust findings in the field. Basically, our visual systems have evolved over millions of years to process the complex patterns found in nature—things like clouds, trees, and coastlines. These are fractals. They have a specific statistical property where the pattern repeats at different scales. Research by people like Richard Taylor at the University of Oregon has shown that when we look at fractals with a specific level of complexity—what they call a mid-range fractal dimension of about one point three to one point five—our brains actually enter a state of relaxed wakefulness.
So, it is like a visual massage for the brain.
That is a great way to put it. When we are in a modern, sterile environment with perfectly straight lines and ninety-degree angles, our brains actually have to work harder to process that because it is so unnatural. It is visually taxing. That leads to cognitive fatigue. So, for Hannah’s hotel, incorporating those mid-range fractals—maybe in the carpet patterns, the wall textures, or even the structural layout of the facade—can literally lower the guests' stress levels by up to sixty percent within minutes of them walking through the door. It is not just pretty; it is physiological relief.
That is incredible. But neuro-design is bigger than just fractals, right? What about the actual bones of the building? Hannah mentioned she wants spaces that can be calming or enlivening. How do you toggle that switch using architecture?
A lot of that comes down to what is called prospect and refuge theory. This was a concept developed by a geographer named Jay Appleton back in the nineteen seventies, but neuro-architecture has given it a biological foundation. It suggests that we feel most comfortable when we have a good view of our surroundings—that is the prospect—but also a sense of being protected from behind—that is the refuge. Think of a booth in a restaurant. You have your back against a wall, but you can see the whole room. That is a high-refuge, high-prospect space. In a hotel lobby, if you have huge open spaces with nowhere to tuck away, people feel exposed. Their sympathetic nervous system stays slightly active because, evolutionarily, they are vulnerable to a predator sneaking up behind them.
So, to make it calming, you want more refuge?
Exactly. You want nooks, lower ceilings in seating areas, and soft lighting. But to make it enlivening, you lean into prospect. You want those soaring ceilings and expansive views. There is actually some fascinating research by a professor named Joan Meyers-Levy about ceiling height, often called the Cathedral Effect. She found that high ceilings—like ten feet or more—actually prime the brain for abstract, creative thinking. They make us feel free and encourage us to make connections between disparate ideas. Lower ceilings, around eight feet, prime us for detail-oriented, concrete tasks. So, if Hannah wants an enlivening bar or a creative lounge, she needs height. If she wants a calming, intimate reading room or a sleeping area, she needs to bring that ceiling down or use canopies to create that sense of refuge.
That is such a practical takeaway. I can imagine a hotel where the transition from the grand, high-ceiling lobby to a more intimate, lower-ceiling library area tells your brain exactly how to feel without you ever realizing it. But what about the interior design side? Hannah’s partner is an interior designer. How do things like color and light fit into the neuro-design model?
Oh, light is perhaps the most powerful tool they have. We have light-sensitive cells in our retinas called intrinsically photosensitive retinal ganglion cells. They have nothing to do with sight. They connect directly to the suprachiasmatic nucleus, which is our internal clock. This is the circadian rhythm. Most hotels get this wrong. They have the same flat, overhead L-E-D lighting all day and night. If you want to support mental health, you have to mimic the sun. In the morning, you need high-intensity, blue-enriched light—around five thousand to six thousand Kelvin—to suppress melatonin and wake the brain up. That is enlivening. In the evening, you need warm, amber tones—around two thousand seven hundred Kelvin—with low intensity to trigger melatonin production and prepare the brain for sleep.
I have seen some high-end hotels starting to use tunable lighting systems that change throughout the day. It sounds like that is not just a luxury gimmick; it is a biological necessity for good sleep and mood.
Absolutely. And then there is the concept of biophilia. Now, Hannah is likely familiar with this, but neuro-design takes it further than just putting a plant in the corner. We are talking about the fourteen patterns of biophilic design. One of the most interesting is non-rhythmic sensory stimuli. Imagine a light breeze moving a curtain, the sound of water, or the dappled light filtering through leaves. These things are unpredictable but non-threatening. Our brains love them. They keep us present and mindful. There is a famous study by Roger Ulrich from nineteen eighty-four where he showed that hospital patients with a view of trees recovered faster and needed less pain medication than those looking at a brick wall. In a hotel, this translates to interior courtyards, living walls, and even the use of natural materials like wood and stone.
Speaking of stone, we are in Jerusalem. The Jerusalem stone is everywhere. Does the texture of a building matter to the brain?
It matters immensely! This is the field of haptics. Our skin is our largest sensory organ. When we touch natural materials like wood, stone, or linen, it sends different signals to the brain than when we touch plastic or cold metal. There is research showing that touching wood can actually lower blood pressure. So, for Hannah and her partner, choosing materials that have a tactile, natural quality is essential. In a hotel room, you want a variety of textures—soft rugs, smooth stone, grained wood. It provides a rich sensory environment that grounds the guest in the present moment.
We have talked a lot about calming, but what if the goal is to inspire? What if this hotel is for business travelers or artists? How do you spark that enlivening feeling?
For inspiration, you want to lean into what is called the awe response. Awe is a powerful emotion that actually shrinks our sense of self—what psychologists call the small self—and makes us feel connected to something larger. Architecturally, you achieve this through scale and mystery. A massive atrium that draws the eye upward, or a design that uses complexity and shadow to create a sense of mystery—where you can't see everything at once, and you are drawn to explore.
Like a labyrinth but in a good way?
Exactly. Not a confusing labyrinth, which causes stress, but an enticing one. Our brains are designed to be foragers. We love to discover new information. If a space reveals itself slowly—maybe there is a hidden garden behind a curved wall, or a view that only opens up once you reach a certain point—it triggers the reward system in the brain. It releases dopamine. That sense of discovery is incredibly enlivening. It keeps the guest engaged and curious.
This makes me think about the guest's journey through the hotel. From the moment they pull up to the entrance to the moment they lay their head on the pillow. How can Hannah and her partner use neuro-design to craft that specific sequence?
That is where it gets really interesting. You have to think about sensory zoning. When a guest arrives, they are often stressed from travel. They are in a state of high vigilance. The entrance and check-in area should provide immediate refuge and clear navigation. Confusion is the enemy of a good neuro-design experience. If the brain can't easily find where to go, it stays in a state of low-level anxiety. So, clear sightlines and intuitive pathways are key. This is called wayfinding, and it is a huge part of neuro-architecture.
And then they head to their room. The transition is usually a long, windowless hallway. Those are always so depressing.
Right! The hallway is a missed opportunity. In neuro-design, that hallway should be a decompression zone. Maybe the lighting is dimmer, the acoustics are softer to signal a move toward a private space. You can use rhythmic lighting or patterns on the floor to create a sense of movement. Then, the room itself should be the ultimate refuge. There is a concept called the nesting effect. If the bed is tucked into an alcove or has a solid headboard against a sturdy wall, the guest will sleep better because their brain feels secure. If the bed is floating in the middle of the room with the door directly behind the guest's head, they will have a harder time reaching deep sleep because the brain is staying alert for intruders.
What about the sensory control? I feel like being able to control your environment is a big part of feeling calm.
You hit the nail on the head, Corn. Agency is huge for mental health. One of the biggest stressors in hotels is the lack of control—you can't open the window, you can't figure out the thermostat, the lights are either all on or all off. Neuro-design suggests that giving guests granular control over their environment—dimmable lights, adjustable temperature, different textures to touch—reduces stress significantly. It empowers the prefrontal cortex and calms the amygdala. Even something as simple as being able to choose between a firm or soft pillow, or different scents for the room, can make a huge difference.
I am curious about the social aspect too. Hotels are social hubs. How does neuro-design help people connect or, conversely, give them the space to be alone without feeling lonely?
That is the idea of the third space. You want to design for different levels of social friction. Some people want to be in the mix, and others want to be what architects call alone together. That means having small, protected seating areas that are within sight of a larger, more active area. It goes back to that prospect and refuge thing. If I am sitting in a cozy nook with a view of the bustling bar, I get the social stimulation—the sight and sound of people—without the social exhaustion of having to interact. It allows the brain to choose its level of engagement.
It sounds like a lot of this is about reducing the cognitive load on the guest. Making everything so intuitive and aligned with our biology that the brain can just stop working so hard.
Precisely. We spend about ninety percent of our time indoors. If those indoor environments are at odds with our biological needs, it is like we are living in a state of constant, low-grade friction. Over time, that leads to burnout, anxiety, and sleep disorders. By aligning the design with how our brains actually work, Hannah isn't just making a pretty hotel; she is creating a space for neurological restoration.
I want to touch on something Hannah’s partner might be interested in—the neuro-aesthetics of joy. Ingrid Fetell Lee has done some great work on this. How does that translate to the interior design?
Ingrid Fetell Lee found that certain physical attributes are universally associated with joy across cultures. Round shapes, for instance. Sharp angles trigger a slight fear response in the amygdala because, in nature, sharp things are often dangerous—think thorns or teeth. Round things—like bubbles, flowers, or round furniture—are perceived as safe and playful.
So, a lobby with curved sofas and circular light fixtures is going to feel more welcoming and joyful than one with sharp, brutalist edges.
Exactly. And then there is color. We often think of color as subjective, but there are some physiological constants. Saturated, bright colors tend to increase our arousal levels. They are enlivening. If you want a space to feel high-energy, like a hotel gym or a breakfast cafe, you use those pops of vibrant color. If you want a spa or a bedroom to be calming, you use low-saturation, cool tones like sages or soft blues, which have been shown to lower heart rates and promote relaxation.
This is so much more sophisticated than just choosing a color palette. It is almost like the architect and the interior designer are becoming amateur neurologists.
In a way, they are. And the tech is catching up to help them. There are now companies that offer neuro-mapping for buildings. They can actually predict, based on the blueprints, which areas of a building will be high-stress and which will be restorative. They use algorithms trained on thousands of brain scans and eye-tracking data. They can tell you if a guest's eyes will be drawn to the exit sign or to the beautiful piece of art you've placed in the corner.
That is a little bit Minority Report, but also very cool. Is there a danger here, though? If we know exactly how to manipulate the brain through design, could that be used in a negative way? Like, making a hotel bar so enlivening that people never want to leave and keep buying drinks?
Oh, absolutely. That is the dark side of neuro-marketing in design. Casinos have been doing this for decades—no clocks, no windows, confusing layouts to keep you lost and gambling. They use specific scents and sounds to keep your dopamine levels spiked. But what Hannah is talking about is the opposite. It is using these tools for well-being. It is about ethical neuro-design. The goal isn't to trap people; it is to support them. It is about creating an environment that helps them be the best version of themselves.
So, for Hannah and her partner, if they want to make this a core part of their design, where do they actually start? What is the first step in a neuro-design project?
I would say the first step is a sensory audit. Instead of looking at the site plan just in terms of square footage and plumbing, they should map out the sensory experience. Where is the natural light coming from at different times of the day? What are the acoustic challenges? Is there a busy street nearby that will trigger the amygdala? Then, they should define the emotional goals for each zone. Do we want this room to be a refuge or a prospect? Do we want it to be high-arousal or low-arousal? Once they have that emotional map, they can apply the specific levers we talked about—fractals, ceiling heights, light temperatures, and biophilic elements.
And maybe even testing it?
If they have the budget, absolutely. Using V-R to let people walk through the space and then just asking them how they feel—or even using simple biometric sensors like heart rate monitors—can give them so much data. But even without high-tech sensors, just following these biological principles will get them seventy percent of the way there. They should also consider the olfactory dimension—scent. The olfactory bulb is located right next to the amygdala and the hippocampus. Scent is the fastest way to trigger an emotional response or a memory. A signature hotel scent that is calming, like lavender or sandalwood, can create an immediate sense of place and relaxation.
It feels like this is the future of architecture. As we become more aware of the mental health crisis, our buildings have to step up. They can't just be shelter anymore; they have to be part of the cure.
I couldn't agree more. We have spent the last hundred years building for efficiency and for the machine. The next hundred years need to be about building for the human nervous system. Hannah is right on the cutting edge of this. And doing it in a place like Jerusalem, where the environment is already so charged, is a beautiful challenge. She can use the local stone and the incredible light of this region to create something truly restorative.
Well, Hannah, I hope that gives you and your partner a solid foundation to build on. It sounds like a truly amazing project. I can't wait to see how it turns out. Maybe we will have to come stay there once it is finished!
I am already looking forward to that mid-range fractal carpet and the circadian lighting. It sounds like a dream.
For sure. And hey, for everyone else listening, if you are enjoying these deep dives into the weird and wonderful prompts we get, please take a second to leave us a review on your podcast app. It really does help other people find the show.
It really does. We appreciate all of you for tuning in and for sending in such thoughtful prompts.
This has been My Weird Prompts. You can find us on Spotify and at our website, myweirdprompts dot com.
Thanks for listening. We will catch you in the next episode.
Bye everyone!
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