Look, we’ve all rope-dropped a bathroom. Five people, one sink, a countdown clock louder than the monorail’s “por favor,” and a mountain of damp ponchos glaring at you from the towel rack like Force ghosts. Disney, we love you—deeply, irrationally, with MagicBand tan lines to prove it—but your hotel bathrooms are still stuck somewhere between “1971 opening day” and “why is this mirror gaslighting my contour?”

Here’s the manifesto Disney bathrooms didn’t know they needed, equal parts practical salvation and gloriously whimsical chaos. We are demanding these items to avoid a bathroom apocalypse and a pre-park meltdown.

We’ve got some practical requests, and we’ve also got loftier goals that might seem unrealistic, but when we’re paying Disney bucks and they have a full staff of Imagineers, we believe that magic can happen and dreams can come true—even bathroom-centric, hygiene-forward dreams. So, let’s take the plunge into our Disney bathroom request list.

The Practical (a.k.a. “Why don’t we have these yet?”)

Hooks. More hooks should be the start of a national initiative. Back-of-door, next to the shower, above the vanity, halfway to the water closet—every twelve inches until we’ve got a hanger forest. Families are traveling with towels, backpacks, spirit jerseys, three pairs of ears, and a poncho collection that could double as a small sailboat. Gravity is not a storage system. Hooks are.

And if Disney won’t provide hooks for us, we just might have to bring our own.

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Real Doors. Real doors are the hill we’re willing to plant a flag on. Barn-style sliders look cute in a Fixer Upper montage; in real life they don’t latch, they don’t seal, and they definitely don’t muffle the “I-shouldn’t-have-ordered-the-second-basket-of-tachos” symphony. Give us hinged, sealable, gloriously soundproof doors—the kind that make a thunk you can trust. Privacy is not an optional amenity.

Anti-fog mirrors. Let the mirror fight the steam so I can fight my humidity-volumized hair. A small heated patch or full anti-fog backing means no more swiping a smiley face in condensation to apply liquid liner by faith alone. We’re not training to be runway models; we just want symmetrical wings.

Real bathmats. Not a folded towel having an identity crisis. We want grippy, absorbent mats that cover actual splash zones so you don’t exit like Bambi on ice. Machine-washable, quick-dry, and—dare we dream—cozy. Give us something with grip, coverage, and enough mass that it doesn’t curl up like a frightened armadillo.

And if Disney won’t provide a decent, non-slip bathmat for us, we just might have to bring our own.

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Ventilation that works. Better ventilation is both a comfort issue and a maintenance strategy. A fan that does more than whisper encouragement while fog takes the room hostage would prevent the Florida humidity + human humidity = swamp equation. Dry walls, happy lungs, and makeup that doesn’t melt faster than Olaf in July.

Built-in vanity nightlight. Add a built-in nightlight under the vanity so those 2 a.m. padawan patrols don’t sear retinas. A low, under-glow that guides without turning the room into interrogation lighting. Think: “EPCOT breezeway at dusk,” not “interview with the principal.” A soft glow under the counter means toddlers, grandparents, and over-hydrated park warriors can navigate without waking the entire room like the opening number of Fantasmic!

Black makeup towels. These should be as ubiquitous as Mickey bars. Mascara, self-tanner, red lipstick after a character meal—white towels don’t deserve this life. Give us a designated, launderable, non-judgmental black towel so the bathroom doesn’t look like CSI: Main Street, U.S.A. Label them with a cute “Fairest of Them All” tag and watch housekeeping high-five you in the hallway. Seriously, though. This is a thing. Lots of hotels have them. Why is Disney so late to the game with this? Or in the least, provide some disposable makeup cleanser wipes.

And if Disney won’t provide a makeup towel for us, we just might have to bring our own.

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Soft-close everything is the soundtrack of peace. Toilets, drawers, vanity doors—let them all exhale shut like a spa menu, not slam like Gaston entering a tavern. It protects toddler fingers and adult sanity. Soft-close everything is the unsung hero of rope-drop mornings. Toilet seats that whisper. Drawers that glide. Lids that say “shh” instead of “BANG.”

Vanity stepstool. A kid step stool integrated into the vanity is the single smartest space-saver you can add. Pull it out, tiny person can reach the sink; push it in, grown-ups keep their knees. Sturdy, wipeable, labeled “Junior Imagineer” because we’re not above motivational branding.

And if Disney won’t provide a stepstool for us, we might just have to bring our own (or have it delivered to save luggage space).

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A fold-down shower bench is both ADA-forward and wildly practical. It’s a shaving ledge, a spot for a seated rinse after a “we did 11 miles by noon” kind of day, and a place to park toiletries that don’t balance on razor-thin ledges designed by a minimalist who’s never met a conditioner bottle.

Two-ply toilet paper. We are begging. We will pay. We will sign the petition. We’ll name our next towel animal after you. Upgrade us from “frontier fort parchment” to “civilized cloud.” Your guests’ relationship with fiber shouldn’t haunt an otherwise magical vacation.

And if Disney won’t comply with basic toilet paper decency, we might just have to bring our own!

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A diaper and feminine hygiene starter kit. A diaper and feminine hygiene starter kit on request is the definition of hospitality. No one wants to trek to the gift shop at 11:08 p.m. in socks because a surprise showed up. A discreet pouch with a couple of basics solves real problems and wins fierce loyalty. Really think about the folks visiting Disney World —chances are there’s at least one lady (likely more!) and probably one diaper-aged child in most parties. Let’s put courtesy and equity back in hospitality!

But if Disney thinks only wall-mounted toiletries are all we’re entitled to for our room stay, we’ll bring our own!

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Drip Zone. A designated drip zone turns chaos into choreography. Give us a wall of stainless pegs, a retractable clothesline that can actually hold four adult swimsuits, and a tray or mat designed to corral the post-storm poncho tsunami. Let the water drip where it’s meant to drip, not across the path to the minibar—where tragedy strikes.

A Split Bathroom. **A true split bathroom—cruise ship style—**is the organizational nirvana of large parties. One room with a toilet and sink, another with the shower, and a second sink. Suddenly, two humans can get ready without gladiatorial combat over faucet time. Queue management: not just for Lightning Lanes.

The Whimsical (Because We’re Still on Vacation)

Alright, we handled the sensible stuff—hooks for days, doors that actually close, two-ply that doesn’t qualify as pioneer cosplay—so now let’s let the pixie dust out of the drawer and get audacious. This is where bathrooms stop being merely functional and start serving main-character energy. Think vanity lights that glow like Spaceship Earth at midnight, mirrors that give you bus ETAs and a Mulan pep talk, towel bars that warm your soul (and your socks), and steam-kissed fireworks that say goodnight like a private Happily Ever After. We’re not asking for a fairy godmother in Facilities—just a few “if we can dream it, we can plumb it” upgrades that make conquering Florida humidity, 25,000 steps, and three ADRs before noon feel downright cinematic.

Towel Warmer. A towel warmer bar is the post–afternoon-storm hug we all deserve. You come back soaked, you pop your towel (or every layer of clothing that the “Florida dew” saturated) on the warmer, and suddenly you’re being cuddled by a spa in Tuscany—except the view is the Skyliner and somehow that’s cooler.

A Magic Mirror—think Hey Disney!, but make it reflective—would change mornings forever. Bus ETAs, park hours, a “you’re three minutes ahead of schedule” banner for Type A planners, and optional pep talks from characters. Mulan reminds you, “You’ve got this eyeliner, warrior.” Tiana adds, “But be quick, baby, that beignet line waits for no one.” If the mirror also dimly shames you into wearing sunscreen, we won’t be mad.

A fireworks steam show. This might be the most extra thing we’re proposing, and we stand by it with our whole Disney Adult hearts. Subtle projection on the shower glass at bedtime—soft sparkles, the suggestion of a finale––a private Fantasmic! inspired steamy projection show for the evening. Parents-only after 9 p.m., because some magic is for grown-ups.

In-room Spaceship Earth Light Show. An EPCOT Beacon night-light cycle would make 2 a.m. stagger trips cinematic. Set the vanity glow to “Spaceship Earth after dark,” and let that gentle gradient guide you like a benevolent orb that knows you drank too much blue milk.

Aroma Vents. Yep, we said it. Aromathera-vents let you cue the vibe: “Polynesian Lobby” for tropical serenity, “Contemporary Grand Canyon Concourse” if you want that crisp, modern morning energy, or “None, thanks” for allergy folks and scent minimalists. Tiny, tasteful, and—critically—optional. But what a way to give that potentially funky space a fresh spritz of happiness.

Concierge Stylist. Concierge hair stylists who have actually beaten Florida humidity might be the true miracle. Bookable blowouts and emergency frizz triage from stylists who know the difference between “I’m eating at Victoria & Albert’s” and “I have a 7:10 a.m. reservation for Cinderella’s Royal Table and a fragile relationship with bangs.” Think Anti-Frizz Avengers, assembled.

Individual foot bath/massagers tucked into a vanity cubby would radicalize even the most stoic park commander. Twenty-five thousand steps, three rides stacked at sunset, and then you soak your overachieving hobbit feet while scrolling photos of your kid high-fiving Goofy. That’s a peak vacation moment, and you didn’t even have to mobile order it.

In short: give us hooks, doors that shut like they mean it, mirrors that don’t lie, and enough airflow to keep a lipstick from melting. Layer in cruise-style split baths, bench smarts, black towels, soft-close serenity, a drip zone that tames the monsoon, and—for the love of Walt—two-ply TP. Then, if you want to send us into full-on happily-ever-after, warm our towels, pep-talk our eyeliner, and let our vanity glow like Spaceship Earth at midnight. Do the basics brilliantly, sprinkle a little pixie dust on top, and you’ll turn every pre-park scramble into something closer to magic than mayhem.

We’re always on the hunt for the latest and greatest Disney souvenirs and essentials, so don’t forget to stay tuned to the Disney Food Blog for more!