Underused Public Resources & Disneyifying Parks

We have incredible public spaces that we treat like afterthoughts. What if we designed them to be as engaging as theme parks?

Walk through your local public park. What do you see?

Probably some grass. Maybe a few benches. A playground from the 1990s. Perhaps a walking path that goes... somewhere. Some signs that nobody reads. A restroom that may or may not be open.

Now think about the last time you went to Disneyland, or any well-designed theme park. Every detail is considered. Navigation is intuitive. There's always something interesting around the next corner. You never quite want to leave.

The contrast is striking. And it raises a question: why are our public spaces so mediocre when we know exactly how to make them great?

The Wasted Potential

America has phenomenal public resources that are chronically underutilized:

• National parks that most Americans never visit despite paying for them
• City parks that sit empty except for dog walkers
• Public libraries that could be community hubs but feel institutional
• Recreation centers with outdated equipment and confusing hours
• Beaches with minimal amenities and poor access
• Public squares that are either empty or dominated by homeless encampments

These aren't resource constraints. We have the land. We have public funding. What we lack is design ambition—the willingness to make public spaces genuinely excellent rather than merely adequate.

What Disney Gets Right

Disney theme parks are, arguably, the most sophisticated designed environments in human history. Billions of dollars and decades of iteration have gone into making them maximally engaging. What principles could we borrow?

1. Hub-and-Spoke Navigation

Disney parks have a central hub (Main Street, the castle) with themed "lands" radiating outward. You always know where you are relative to the center. You can glimpse adjacent areas, building curiosity.

Most public parks have no such logic. Paths meander randomly. There's no clear entry sequence. No landmarks to orient you. You end up walking aimlessly or consulting your phone.

The fix: Design parks with a clear central gathering space and distinct zones radiating outward. Make each zone thematically coherent. Create sightlines that draw you forward.

2. Choreographed Reveals

Disney uses "serial vision"—the deliberate sequencing of views as you move through space. Narrow passages open to expansive vistas. You're constantly surprised and delighted.

Public parks typically offer... monotony. Flat lawn after flat lawn. No compression or release. No surprise.

The fix: Use topography, vegetation, and structures to create visual sequences. Build anticipation with narrowing paths that open to stunning views. Hide delights around corners.

3. Obsessive Attention to Comfort

Disney studies where people naturally walk ("desire lines") before paving paths. Shade appears where you need it. Seating is always nearby. Water fountains work. Restrooms are clean and plentiful.

Public parks often ignore basic comfort. Paths cut across where planners thought people should walk, not where they actually walk. Shade is accidental. Seating is sparse. Restrooms are locked or disgusting.

The fix: Observe actual use patterns before finalizing designs. Provide abundant seating and shade. Maintain facilities obsessively. Make comfort the baseline, not a luxury.

4. Programming and Activation

Disney parks are never static. There's always something happening—shows, parades, character appearances, seasonal events. The space is alive.

Most public parks are... just space. Maybe a farmers market once a week. Maybe a summer concert series. Otherwise, you provide your own entertainment.

The fix: Actively program public spaces. Regular events, activities, performances. Make visiting the park an ongoing experience, not just access to grass.

What "Disneyified" Parks Could Look Like

Imagine your local park redesigned with these principles:

You enter through a defined gateway—not just a gap in a fence, but a threshold that signals you're arriving somewhere special. Maybe a planted arch, maybe an architectural element.

The entry opens to a vibrant hub—a central plaza with a landmark (fountain, sculpture, pavilion), surrounded by amenities (cafe, restrooms, visitor center). This is where you orient yourself and meet friends.

Themed zones radiate outward—a nature area with native plantings and wildlife viewing; an active zone with sports facilities and fitness equipment; a children's zone with creative play structures; a quiet zone with gardens and seating for reading.

Paths tell a story—as you walk, the experience changes. A tree-lined allée compresses space, then opens to a meadow view. A boardwalk takes you through a wetland. A hilltop offers a panorama.

Something is always happening—morning yoga classes, afternoon live music, evening movie screenings, weekend food markets, seasonal festivals. The calendar is full.

Technology enhances the experience—wayfinding apps, AR interpretive displays for nature, easy reservation systems for popular spots, real-time updates on activities.

This isn't fantasy. It's just applying proven design principles to public space. Singapore does this. Copenhagen does this. Even some American cities (parts of Chicago's lakefront, Hudson Yards in New York) demonstrate what's possible.

Why Don't We Do This?

If we know how to make great public spaces, why don't we?

Low expectations. We've accepted that public = mediocre. When a park is merely "nice," we consider it a success.

Fear of exclusion. There's an anxiety that making parks "too nice" will exclude homeless populations or feel elitist. But the result of avoiding this is parks that serve no one well.

Bureaucratic fragmentation. Parks departments maintain grass. Different agencies handle programming. Capital improvements come from bond measures. No one owns the holistic experience.

Public process paralysis. Every improvement requires community input, which often empowers the most conservative voices. The default is doing nothing.

Cost assumptions. We assume Disney-quality experiences require Disney-level budgets. But much of what makes Disney work is design thinking, not expensive technology. Thoughtful layout costs about the same as thoughtless layout.

The Broader Principle

Parks are just one example. The same logic applies to:

• Public libraries—could be community living rooms with cafes, co-working spaces, maker labs, event programming
• Public transit—could be clean, comfortable, reliable, with real-time information and thoughtful wayfinding
• Public schools—could be beautiful buildings that inspire rather than institutional boxes
• Government offices—could be welcoming rather than hostile, designed for the citizen not the bureaucrat

In each case, we have resources. What we lack is the expectation that public services should be excellent, not just functional.

The Optimistic Case

Here's why I'm hopeful: we actually know how to do this. The knowledge exists. The techniques are proven. There's no technological barrier.

What's required is a shift in mindset—from "public spaces should be adequate" to "public spaces should be extraordinary."

When cities decide to invest in public space quality, the results are transformative. The High Line in New York. Millennium Park in Chicago. The entire waterfront transformation of Copenhagen. These places become sources of civic pride, economic engines, and genuine community assets.

The question isn't whether we can afford to make public spaces excellent. It's whether we can afford not to—when excellent public spaces increase property values, attract businesses, improve public health, reduce crime, and make cities more livable.

Disneyifying parks isn't about commercialization. It's about ambition. It's about believing that the public deserves the same quality of experience that paying customers get.