From the moment students step onto its grounds, USC's campus feels like a disservice to its storied academic promise and tradition. Instead of an inspiring welcome, students are greeted by a grim, gray maze of blocky towers and concrete plazas; an industrial park aesthetic that immediately undermines the university’s historic legacy and sets a somber tone that can bring students’ spirits down.
By comparison, Midlands Technical College, the second-largest post–high school institution in the midlands area after USC, manages to achieve a remarkable balance of classic brick and contemporary design despite having only a yearly budget of $131 million across its six campuses. The college's clever architectural blend not only overcomes its tight budget but also provides a much more inviting atmosphere than USC, which has instead embraced an architectural style that feels cold and uninviting, lacking the warmth and collegiate charm one might expect from a flagship state university.
The contrast is undeniable, a sea of gray concrete stretching across the campus like a relic of another era. The architecture evokes comparisons to an industrial factory, an aesthetic that feels both imposing and strangely impersonal. The sheer utilitarianism of the buildings creates a sense of monotony, their brutalist facades offering little warmth or variation.
Although frugality may have trumped aesthetics in the ‘60s, just a half century later, students are the ones stuck with the result; a sprawling campus riddled with stark concrete buildings, making it feel more like an abandoned industrial complex than a university. Especially when contrasted with the historical Horseshoe, a picturesque landmark frequently featured in photographs and embodying the charm and inviting ambiance one would expect from a classic Southern college.
The blame might be traced to the 1960s and ’70s craze for brutalist architecture, when huge slabs of exposed concrete were championed as futuristic. Others point to the breakneck construction spree under University President Thomas F. Jones, when enrollment nearly quadrupled in just over a decade and the university slapped up buildings as quickly as possible.
But understanding why USC has so many concrete towers doesn’t make them any easier on the eyes. Students living in high-rises like Bates West or South Tower might joke that the concrete walls give off prison vibes. Visitors might do a double take when they see the looming slabs of Gambrell, or the hulking Coker/Jones complex just across the library fountain. That disconnect can tarnish the sense of pride students should feel in their campus.
Walk around on a cloudy day and the effect can feel especially gloomy. One moment students are admiring the centuries-old architecture, gracefully shaded by stately, towering oaks, exuding an inviting warmth and historic charm. However, just step a few yards away and suddenly students are surrounded by stark, windowless concrete that impose a cold, industrial vibe that feels unwelcoming.
Even among the most enthusiast supporters of modern design, USC’s mid-century blocks can come across as jarring. The original campus, noted on USC’s campus architecture page for its federal and neoclassical structures, gives a sense of tradition that’s instantly lost once outside the Horseshoe. It can leave prospective students and parents wondering if they’d stumbled onto the streets of Columbia, possibly asking “Wait, are we still on campus?”
This contrast is even more noticeable because the Horseshoe gets used as a marketing tool: a meticulously curated image of a historic quadrangle where centuries-old oak trees frame sprawling, verdant lawns and stately facades. Every brochure and postcard features sunlit scenes of the manicured gardens, elegant brick walkways and quietly inspiring greenery that seem to promise an eternal academic idyll. Yet this picture-perfect portrayal, omnipresent on official tours, glosses over the less glamorous reality that awaits beyond these scenic snapshots.
Once students are actually enrolled and wandering over to class in a concrete rectangle slab covered in decades of grime, the reality hits. Parking garages and windowless utility facilities only add to the bleakness, giving parts of campus an industrial feel. If these were tucked away or had a facade, maybe we could ignore them; instead, they often sit right next to classrooms and central campus.
What might frustrate students is that that some universities manage to grow without sacrificing aesthetics. Schools like the University of Oklahoma have stuck to a cohesive style for generations. Others, like Princeton or Duke, may have updated their architecture over time but still maintain a gothic or collegiate theme across much of campus. However, at USC, it appears there was no overarching vision; just a wave of frantic expansion that swallowed up the old-fashioned charm creating the eclectic mix of architecture we see today.
It wasn’t always like this.
According to the SC Encyclopedia, early on, the university’s buildings (from about 1801 to 1860) were small-scale brick structures, mostly in the federal & neoclassical style , with some flourishes of Greek revival. Back then, the campus served barely a few hundred students and architectural elegance seemed crucial to conveying a sense of academic gravitas.
By the turn of the 20th century, USC had embraced neoclassicism and even some Beaux-Arts touches. Grand columns and stucco details reflected a national taste for classical forms, and despite major disruptions like wars and economic downturns, the campus managed to remain fairly consistent: classical silhouettes, brick, columns and a human scale.
However, in the decades following World War II, the university began experimenting with mid-century modern ideas, reflecting both rapid societal changes and a desire to appear “forward-looking.” With support from the city of Columbia, many of these innovative designs were built and tested in the Wheeler Hill and Ward One areas as part of a slum-clearing initiative.
These neighborhoods, predominantly inhabited by poor African-American families, were later labeled as ‘blight’ by the government, according to Bobby Donaldson, an Associate Professor in the Department of History. Today, Wheeler Hill is home to university buildings such as Bates House, Bates West and the dated Blatt P.E. Center, while Ward One features recognizable landmarks like Darla Moore School of Business, the Carolina Coliseum and the Koger Center for the Arts.
Although some structures from the late 1940s and early 1950s still hint at earlier styles, modern designs began to take hold during a period of rapid expansion in the mid-1960s through the mid-1970s.. With so many new students, the university found itself slapping together dorms and classroom towers at a breathless pace, a development that has contributed significantly to the campus’s current, less-than-inviting concrete aesthetic.
In the years after Jones retired, USC tried to temper that bunker-like aesthetic. The 1980s still saw some gray, monolithic expansions, but as time went on, designers dialed back the raw materials in favor of more transitional styles.
By the 1990s, the campus had entered what I call the “Beige Era,” when buff brick became the norm, and buildings rarely exceeded six floors. It wasn’t exactly a throwback to federal columns, but at least it didn’t look like a military fortress. Still, wander from the beige blocks toward the mid-century towers and students will feel the jarring shift.
Today, the newest campus additions present yet another style: more glass, steel and brick, often with eco-friendly features and open courtyards; what I call the “Garden Campus” approach.
Buildings like the Darla Moore School of Business, the Joseph F. Rice School of Law and Campus Village aim to be modern without towering over everything. Recent projects highlight living walls, landscaped courtyards, and vibrant greenery installations that offer a refreshing contrast to the often dry classes students are in. On paper, it’s an appealing idea. In practice, these structures now sit alongside the brutalist expansions, creating a patchwork of industrial and contemporary architecture.
So, the question remains: does USC embrace the concrete towers as part of its institutional DNA, or does it look for ways to minimize their visual impact with greenery and new paint jobs?
Although USC has improved its approach in recent decades, thoughtfully integrating new architecture with existing buildings and landscapes, the brutalist blight on campus remains a costly mistake. Nothing short of a comprehensive, multi-billion-dollar renovation could truly erase the “brutal” in brutalism around campus. Until then, anyone expecting a seamless transition from the iconic southern charm of the Horseshoe to outer campus will have to adjust their expectations, or at least bring some sunglasses for all that gray.