Back when I was traveling a lot for SourcingXpro, I stayed in some older hotels around Shenzhen that had these endless, dim hallways. I remember walking to my room late at night and feeling my pulse pick up even though nothing was wrong. Later I read that our brains naturally flag long, narrow spaces as risky because you can't see what's ahead or behind—kind of an evolutionary leftover. The unsettled feeling wasn't from ghosts, it was the architecture itself nudging my instincts. Honestly, it showed me how buildings can shape mood in ways you don't expect, almost like they're part of the story.
We're one of the largest ghost tour companies in what is considered the most haunted city in America - New Orleans. I would love to share insight from that angle if that suits your needs. I figured I would ping you here first with the idea before sending any details. I know you asked for scientific experts, but possibly you need something anecdotal as well? I have a lot I can answer about how our guests react. You can reach me by email at chris@uniquenola.com or by phone at 504-777-7761.
Clinical Director, Licensed Clinical Social Worker & Counselor at Victory Bay
Answered 6 months ago
Certain architectural details can activate the threat response in our brains, which influences mental health, especially for people with PTSD and anxiety. Labyrinthine designs exacerbate discomfort for susceptible people by triggering evolutionary fear-detection systems in the amygdala and hippocampus. Prolonged corridors of no return are just mind-wrenching especially in a traumatic past. Twisty spaces obstruct cognitive mapping and tip off the body to produce more cortisol and fight or take flight, firing up the panic in people with anxiety. Think of the prison-like aesthetic in a mental health facility resulting in unnecessary misery - that's bad design. We incorporated trauma-informed design principles at Victory Bay, which means therapeutic spaces are optimized with visible exits and natural light made for clear sightlines and a balance between open and private space. This system decreases patient agitations and supports emotion control during treatment. Environmental design has a great impact on treatment outcomes and architectural psychology is an essential part of healthcare.
Every person entering a room instantly "reads" its character and energy, even if they don't realize it consciously. You might sense: "Do I want to linger here, or escape because I can't find my corner?" Space always speaks to us. It speaks through light & shadow, textures, acoustics, proportions, temperature, even the vibration of the floor beneath our feet. These subtle signals create either a restoration system or a tension system. A space can nourish us, or quietly exhaust us. Nowadays people invest in sleep routines, supplements, fitness & mindfulness, but very few talk about how profoundly the built environment shapes our nervous system. In my design practice, across many projects and conversations, I've learned to tune into the emotional undertones of clients' stories: a hotel where someone felt so safe they never wanted to leave, or a childhood room that still defines comfort. Our brains never stop scanning spaces for signs of safety: open horizons instead of blocked views, warm light instead of shadows, layouts we can navigate instead of dead ends. When these signals are absent or ambiguous, the body interprets this as potential threat - even in a perfectly "designed" space. That's why some interiors provoke background anxiety: the body doesn't yet know if it can truly exhale.
Hey Nat Geo! I'm not an architect or a psychologist, but I've personally seen how spaces can unsettle people. As a real estate investor, I've walked through my share of foreclosed hotels, old motels, and distressed properties, and I can tell you the architecture itself often creates that unsettling feeling long before you know anything about the building's history. One feature that always stands out is the long, narrow hallway with identical doors on either side. From a practical standpoint, it was designed for efficiency. But things get "weird" when you're in one alone, your mind starts to play tricks. The repetition feels endless, and you can't see what's at the other end. Every door becomes a question mark i.e. what's behind it, who might appear. It taps into the same instincts that make us uncomfortable in dark alleys: limited visibility and too many unknowns.