The Danforth University Center, the newest darling of the Danforth Campus, is a little ridiculous. It seems you can’t walk 10 feet without discovering a new plaque.

Soliciting named donations for the Tisch Commons or Dains Dining Hall, expansive and expensive places they are, makes sense to me. But how about the Wheldon & Reding Entrance? The Koppler Fireplace? The Sarah Russell Meeting Room? The Winney Window?

I can name a window? Sure, if I have a spare $10,000.

Even Student Life is part of the new Angel & Paul Harvey Media Center, and the naming rights to our office are still on the market. A list of all available spaces and objects can be found on the DUC’s Web site, and there seems to be no office, alcove or oddity off limits.

My favorite has to be the Career Center. Both floors are still up for grabs, but the stairs between them proudly bear the label of the Philpott Career Center Staircase, at a price of only $100,000.

According to the Web site, 53 places and objects have already been funded, and I counted about 25 bearing plaques. Knowing the existence of all those modest donors helped restore my faith in humanity—briefly, until the moment I realized that there are still another 70 spots open to bids.

For those generous souls who wish to give back to their school but can’t afford a five-digit donation, fret not. You can buy a brick in the courtyard, and have it engraved with your name for only $500.

However, before you try, I already asked. While you don’t have to name a donation after yourself—an inspirational professor is historically a popular choice—all named donations must go through an approval process. So, I cannot donate in the name of I.C. Weiner, and I sadly must abandon my long-term goal of becoming rich enough to christen the John Wayne Gacy Fun Room.

Named donations are nothing new; almost all buildings are named after a major donor, and plenty of major spaces have names. You may have taken a pre-med exam in the Arthur L. Hughes Lecture Hall in Crow. However, the cost of building the DUC—all $42 million—was funded by donations and their acquired interest. Construction costs ended up exceeding the original budget, and the efforts to name remaining spaces help make up the deficit and endow maintenance.

The DUC’s neighbor, the equally new Seigle Hall, was fortified with a comparable number of hefty donations. Yet, their plaques never struck me as nearly as prolific or intrusive. Wandering around both buildings one afternoon, I came up with a theory. Seigle’s named spots seemed to be mostly spaces and centers on the periphery of major foot traffic.

The DUC’s named things seemed more sporadic, a random window here or meeting room there. The plaques also seemed to be found more centrally, at major entrances or stairs or junctions. You can blame the donors’ personal whims for that.

That said, I still overheard people lambasting Seigle’s plaques as I gave myself the guided tour. The new official names are ignored by staff, mocked by students and lampooned in Student Life editorial cartoons.

And yet, I’m starting to come to see the upside of this ridiculous trend. The unprecedented number of named spaces in the DUC is due to the unprecedented wave of donations. Alumni, both upper class and upper-middle class, are investing a personal stake in improving the campus and putting their money where their mouth is. For better or for worse, we’re going to see new buildings flourish, bristling with venerated stairs and memorial cubicles.

Only one plaque I find unforgivable: “North Entrance—funded by anonymous donor.” I can only hope Anonymous is basking in the glory of his or her indelible mark on our campus’s newest darling DUC.