Okay, I caved.
MSNBC is my home page, and when I saw a story about fans flocking to a virtual tour of Clay Aiken's home, now up for sale, curiosity got the best of me and seconds later, there I was, checking out the American Idol runner up's digs.
While impressive, the thing that struck me the most was how impersonal it all was.
Obviously decorated and furnished by a high-end LA interior decorator, the place was beautiful and very tastefully furnished.
But the only thing that suggested Clay lived there was the masculine color palette.
And, I honestly can't see a 25-year-old singer being comfortable amongst all the fancy furniture, luxurious drapes and rich color schemes. I couldn't imagine him coming home after a day of recording or performing and actually being able to relax in any of those rooms.
Where are the personal photos, and souvenier chatchkes that adore the living spaces of most 20-somethings? Heck, even 30-somethings? Does Clay even live there, or does he just crash there when he happens to be in LA? For chrissakes, hang a poster or something!
Having recently bought a home, I often yearn for an anal, obnoxious, dressed-in-black-from head-to-toe designer to sweep into my space and tell me what needs to be done.
"Buy these curtains, paint these walls this shade, install new hardwood floors, and here are some great accessories from this great designer warehouse I just love!"
"And puh-leeze get rid of that tacky picture and these ridiculous chatchkes. We want clean lines. Harrummph!"
Within a couple of weeks the whole place would shine, and have very elegant, well put-together rooms that blend in with a unified theme. Everything would match and none of the styles would clash with each other. It would look like something straight off the pages of Architectural Digest or Beautiful Homes.
But ..... it wouldn't look like me and it wouldn't feel like home.
Excuse me Mr. Designer, but I happen to love that picture in the wooden mauve colored frame that is cracked! I remember the day I bought it at a Starving Artists sale and the fact that it is painted on a black background, completely opposite of 99% of the paintings out there remind me of the india ink pictures I learned how to make in 5th grade AND it makes a statement that I'm accepting of things that don't fit with the standard way of doing things.
Get rid of that little ceramic pony? You say its juvenile? Well, you're right. It is. My late grandmother plucked it from her curio shelves when she saw my 6-year-old self admiring it one day and told me I could have it. To keep. Forever. And so far, I have. No way your sneering distaste of it is ever gonna convince me to toss it.
Those senseless, non-thematic chatchkes on my book shelves that you say compete with the understated elegance you're trying to create? They're stayin' too. I remember how I came to own each and every one of them. That's why they're out on display in my parlor, for everyone to see, dipshit!
In fact, forget my wish. As beautiful and well-put together designers can make things look, I prefer the do-it-yourself approach. The one that says, yeah, let's pretty up the place, but not lose sight of the fact that someone lives here.
I want a space that when I come home after a hard day, as I look around the room, I see things that remind me of places I've been and people I've known, and states of mind I've been in when I bought them or received them, or simply found them. I want to be calmed. Not worried that the shoes I just kicked off and into the corner are ruining the whole balance of the design.
Maybe if Clay had done that, he wouldn't be selling after only owning the house for just under a year.
And notice how my design rant totally made you forget how nerdy I must be because I happen to be a 37-year-old who not only likes Clay Aiken's music, but cares about his house;)
No comments:
Post a Comment