There is a notion that the newsroom is a chaotic environment, littered with caffeinated reporters furiously typing and fedora topped editors barking into the phone. Though frantic it’s a romantic image but is far from reality.
Take away those ringing phone sand the crunching clamor of keys, lay to rest the floating newspaper clippings, and in their place, put stylistically engineered workspaces, pigmented with accents of red for today’s quintessential newsroom. This is The New York Times newsroom.
The building, located in the midst of frenzied Midtown, stands, a seemingly pores vessel, waiting to receive information.
Its floor to ceiling windows lend insiders a view of the stirring city, while its interior windows allow staffers to peer into a lush serenity garden.
In fact, the windows, like the writers, too have a story. They are the company’s symbol of transparency. A literal image, writers can see out and onlookers can see in, as well as a promise for journalistic integrity.
Although located in the one of the busiest Manhattan neighborhoods, the Times seems to have found a way to distance itself from the fray. A glance outside does not halt you with a brick wall, like most city windows do, but instead holds a careful distance from the masses surrounding it.
It floats among the other structures, and at its center, the newsroom captures a sense of quiet and calm.
So while visions of that frantic newsroom may not materialize, an air of romanticism remains. The energy is neither black nor white, but rather a productive and harmonious gray; a structure ready to produce “All the News That’s Fit to Print.”