Moving While Hoarding: the challenge of a KonMari opposer

I like stuff. And I have a lot of it. From art to furniture to knick-knacks picked up while traveling, my home is always brimming with objects; they’re the steadfast companions in the transient life typical of New Yorkers of a certain age. An old boyfriend once told me that his mother, upon hearing that I worked for AD, asked him what my personal decor style was. He (somewhat smugly) told me he’d responded “Crowded.” While I would split hairs on that exact categorization (and, in my defense, I was living at the time of that question in a 500 square foot apartment where having so much as a bed and dresser pretty much constituted crowded), he’s not altogether wrong. That is to say, I’m pretty much Marie Kondo’s nightmare. And as much as I tried to look at the cult-organizer’s approach with an open mind, the reality was that it didn’t seem to quite work for me. Kondo advocates keeping only the things that bring you joy; well, a lot of things bring me joy. An Oomph side table gives me joy to look at, while a Swiss beer stein brings back joyful memories of a summer trip to the Alps, and an antique side chair recalls the joy of finding it at a hot, dusty flea market during college. I’ve always been inclined to politely agree to disagree with Kondo’s ideology, and my “more is more” approach usually suits me just fine. And then, once every few years, there comes a dreaded time when I question all of that: moving.

Reflections on Jeppe Hein

One of Jeppe Hein's Modified Social Benches, on view in Brooklyn Bridge Park

In an installation whose name would make every kid visitor to a museum jump for joy, Danish-born, Berlin-based Jeppe Hein has transformed Brooklyn Bridge park into a combination playground and treasure hunt for explorers of all ages. Hein’s Please Touch The Art, produced by the Public Art Fund and on view through April 2016, comprises several sculptures scattered throughout the waterside public parkland, all of which combine a connection to their surroundings with a cheeky wit and an unignorable invitation to interact.

Great Wall of Paper

If you're ever really trying to rattle your landlord and ensure at least the partial loss of a security deposit, here's a fun idea: wallpaper your rental! Being a recent graduate in New York, I obviously rent in a small, not outstandingly managed apartment. As lovely as the particular shade of curdled rice pudding that covered every wall was, I wanted to add some kind of personal touch, if only for the sake of my own sanity and creative experimentation.
Relenting to the reality that I'd probably want at least a fighting chance at seeing some of the $1,200 I'd laid down as a security deposit, I opted for what seemed like the most harmless space: the plywood wall above my white brick fireplace (you know what they say about playing up your best assets -- this was by far the apartment's greatest). The surface measured about 5 ft. by 6 ft. and was bordered by the mantel's brick, which continued to the ceiling, so the margin for error seemed acceptably small for my first wallpaper job. One $15 roll of antique paper from Ebay, a pot of wallpaper glue, two brushes, a flattener, and one slightly sticky evening later, these were the results (note strategic hanging of large photograph to minimize terror of visible bumps):

Total cost: <$35. Bam! 

Shopping in Stockholm (/falling in love)

The Scandinavians are well known for their distinct and innovative sense of design, and this is certainly one of the reasons I was most excited to journey North. Before this trip my personal encounters with Swedish design were fairly limited to the mismatched Hanna Anderson outfits in which my mother dressed me regularly until the age of eleven. While I’d like to think my tastes have evolved beyond the stripe-on-inverted-stripe aesthetic of my onetime go-to label, I found that much of the same playful attitude imbues Swedish decor in the home. Here are some of the shops from which I found it the most difficult to not shoplift:

Svenskt Tenn:

Far and away the most beautiful store I visited in Stockholm, this enchanting world of decor was described by our Swedish guide as the “anti-Ikea.” The description was apt; for everything Ikea is bare-boned, minimal, and mass produced, the goods here are fanciful, ornate and elegant. Unfortunately, it is also everything Ikea is not in regards to market-cornering pricing. One day I’ll be able to afford a calfskin bench, but until then my Instagrams will have to tide me over. 

Leave it to the Swedes to create a festive contemporary update to Grandparents’ Beach House chic. 

Solo Forever

The good thing about our recent drive towards Eco-consciousness is that we try to throw much less s*%$ away. The downside, though, is that some of that throw away s*%$ is really goddam cute. Evidently some savvy manufacturers of questionably necessary home goods have caught on to this dilemma because lately I’ve noticed an influx of immortalized (and accordingly price-inflated) versions of your favorite throwaway picnic ware.  Perfect for the nostalgic former-frat star and the eco-conscious Brooklyn hipster couple alike, these cheeky knockoffs of such design greats as Solo and Dixie are sure to make you the talk of the potluck. Check 'em out:

Splatter Me

After Chanel sent its models down the spring runway looking like the palettes of extremely organized watercolorists, the “painterly” trend has been cropping up everywhere, including in home design. Since I’m all for bold colors and particularly talented at uneven paint jobs, it’s taken much of my resolve not to drench all of my furniture in a myriad of Benjamin Moore samples. So long as I’m holding steady I’ve been trolling the internet for more marketable examples of this aesthetic. Here are some of my favorites:

Portrait of the Wall as a Young Wall

Collected masterpieces awaiting installation.

I like to live by the theory that our wall hangings should aptly mimic our life trajectory. If you’re anything like me, your arrival at the now ubiquitously trendy “gallery wall” arose organically through a progression relative to your general life path.

Assuming you lived under the care of fairly liberal-minded parents whose new-age child rearing philosophies permitted “creative expression” to (occasionally) interfere with the color dynamic of a home, your immediate surroundings likely developed accordingly along with your age and interests. To look back through my own first attempts at decor is to follow an impressively comprehensive story of my young life. 

After the first childhood scribblings tacked askew on a pastel colored wall I began curating a more narrowly focused collection, prioritizing subject matter over medium to result in a vast display of work with one common theme, namely anything featuring ponies. Outgrowing that trend, I moved right along to representations of budding childhood friendships, challenging formalist method with my proclivity towards blurry polaroids more often than not taken on my trampoline. As I entered my so-called “tween” years, I gravitated, as many females this age are wont to do, towards a more realist aesthetic, favoring photographic renderings of artistic subjects in the vein of, say, Aaron Carter. After that came the requisite bevy of SPRING BREAK snapshots, painstakingly cultivated to achieve an accurate representation of the very coolenss of my high school friends (just in case our iridescent Michael Stars tees and velour Juicy pants didn’t clue you in). 

Eventually, and perhaps somewhat reluctantly, realizing the frivolity of those, I moved on to a tastefully curated mix of fun-loving yet (relatively) mature group shots interspersed with a few choice concert posters from bands especially selected to reflect my supremely hip yet undeniably individual taste (with perhaps a SPRING BREAK photo or two remaining in an ironic way). The latter mix got me through four years of college, with the help of a couple dozen rolls of double-stick tape, and a not insignificant percentage of Shutterfly’s business. And then what? Once I left college and moved into a real (read: small, likely roach laden and exorbitantly overpriced) apartment, it seemed that my wall hangings should adequately reflect this maturation (so, at the very least, have frames on them and be hung with something more dependable than double stick Victoria’s Secret brand body tape). One thing I learned quickly is that putting a frame on just about anything will make it look worthy of prominent wall placement. Given my limited budget and proclivity towards hoarding this was a valuable realization. Given the price point at Surprise Surprise and my ever-dependable cache of spray paint, it was also easily acted upon. 

Things framed on my wall right now include but are not limited to: coasters from various bars (some more beer-saturated than others), pages cut out of auction catalogs, oversized postcards, magazine covers, baseball tickets, travel souvenirs, calendar images and paintings purchased for 75 cents at a central New York flea market. As for serving as a reflection of my life, I’d say that about sums it up.

Girl Meets Deer: a classic love story

Once upon a post-grad Christmastime I cheerfully arrived home to my apartment and announced to my roommate that I was buying a deer. To which she, bless her little heart, merely responded “Where will it go?” (Details, details!). I guess she’d known me long enough that such a proclamation was unlikely to evoke more than a wary eye-roll.  I had found the deer, a life-sized, solid wood, turn of the century, hand carved Belgian deer, no less, at my place of work. This is less outrageous than it sounds; I was working at the time at ABC Home, the venerable furniture emporium and dealer in all things outrageously beautiful and depressingly priced. For the sake of my sanity and in hopes of my continued abstinence from shoplifting, I pray that this was my last job in which I want to cry no fewer than 8 times a day while surrounding myself with beautiful things I can’t afford. French ceramic bowl? A mere $285! Titanium shot glass? Simply sacrifice your weekly paycheck; it’s $1600 for a set of two!  Squandered paychecks and retail hustling aside, though, the job was an unparalleled source of inspiration and continues to be an invaluable mental sourcebook (as well as a comedic sourcebook; #shitcustomerslookingforamarbleBuddhasay would make a hell of a Twitter feed).

It was Christmastime in this furniture fantasyland when I first laid eyes on my beloved cervidae. Our eyes met one morning in early December, mine eagerly scanning the entryway for potential big spenders, his wooden ones staring, as they are wont to do, deadly at the glitter-covered floor (if you’ve ever been to ABC around Christmas you know exactly what I mean. If you’ve ever worked at ABC from the months of October to February, you especially know what I mean and probably still have some evidence of this in your scalp. Magical). From the moment we locked eyes/from across the room, I was enchanted. Perhaps it was his regal stance, perhaps the gentle curve of his antlers or the intricate carving along his rump. Perhaps the proud way he held his head high despite the array of feather-adorned ornaments hanging from it. In any case, I knew I had to have him.

Once I got around convincing the visual team to part with the star of their holiday tableaux, I faced the frustrating obstacle of transporting my beloved new pet home. While I’d like to think Prancer is magical enough to fly with the best of his sleigh-pulling siblings, alas this proved but a pipe dream and I faced more pedantic options: UPS or a Yellow Taxi. Since there was no way I was going to part with the sculpted creature while he tumbled unattended in the back of a delivery van, I was left to trusty New York transport. Several (dozen?) yards of bubble wrap, a very vocally skeptical cab driver, and much instructing of a slightly exasperated boyfriend later, Prancer was home.

While countless friends and houseguests scoff at the oversized and under-practical addition to my tiny apartment (especially given the frequency with which I am wont to complain about said apartment’s tininess), I maintain that Prancer is the best purchase I have ever made. Some things just speak to you (or rather, suggest to you with subtle eye signals achievable in wood). Through his steadfast wooden friendship, Prancer taught me that sometimes when you see something you love, you just have to go for it, concerns about door width and transportabilty be damned. Oh, and his antlers make the perfect drying rack, so hows that for practical, haters?

the origin of the world (/blog)

^^ maybe don’t google that at work

One day I woke up and everyone had a blog.

I imagine it actually happened a little more gradually than that, but to my panicked 22 year old self, that’s what it seemed. Already feeling an underachiever in the age of the seemingly ubiquitous 25 year old college-dropout billionaire, I was fresh  out of my swanky liberal arts education and newly awash in the wall of “real-world” bafflement which so often arrives behind it when all of the sudden along came a new realization of mediocrity. I didn’t have a blog. I didn’t have a blog?! I’d somehow missed the boat on a generation-wide trend, and was falling more and more behind with each day that passed with nary a thought projected out into the vast echoes of the world wide web.  

I had to act.  I’m all for the trend of getting thoughts out on paper, and in this day and age it would seem thoughts are rendered null and void if not shared with the webosphere, hurled out into a virtual vastness for all or none to see.

As I pondered just what makes me *uNiQuE* (or what tumblr URL somehow applicable to me would not be taken by the rest of the obsessively blogging world), my eyes fell on my roommate, friend, and steadfast companion of my life thus far in New York City: my carved wooden reindeer statue, known to friends as Prancer. The silently judgmental observer of my every move within the exceedingly confined confines of my apartment, Prancer is a constant source of inspiration and companionship to me, and continued evidence of my borderline insanity to those who know me. Who better to serve as guide while I record my hopes, dreams,and everyday struggles delusions, ramblings and janky attempts at highbrow home decor? Join us. And remember: it’s Prancer’s world, we’re just living in it.