Owing to the nature of the magazines that sold images of these domestic spaces, the bachelor pad inevitably (albeit brilliantly) got linked with the primal desire of getting laid, tapping directly into the wallet of a new consuming male paradigm that thought (and bought) with his crotch. Playboy pads were less about camaraderie with the bros, and more about a single idealised swinger operating like a lone wolf stalking his prey (namely women). It wasn’t long before sole- occupancy apartments dripped with a sexy, come- hither vibe.
Stuffed with multiple aids to seduction, rooms were being designed in anticipation of sexual conquests at a moment’s notice. Well-stocked bars served up inhibition- busting cocktails. Lighting with timed dimmers set an amorous mood as the evening wore on. An array of tasteful artwork reflected his awareness of culture, acting as an irresistible lure. Gratuitous gadgetry indicated modernity and innovation, with omnipotent phallic remote controls that shore up his sense of manhood. There were even some hints of predatory technology; in Pillow Talk, Doris Day learns that Rock Hudson has a button that remotely bolts the door against her escape from his lair.
The bedroom became the bachelor’s most revered performance space that houses the iconic circular “Playboy Bed” as a magnificent temple to practise his libertine ethos. After communion, the entire pad works to eject the evidence, including the comely companion; unrepentant bachelor Barney Stinson ( How I Met Your Mother) had his apartment designed in such a way that women would not want to stay there for long.