This little guy can’t wait to be settled into the new place. His nerves have been fried by all this packing…
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DROP YOUR DRAWERS
Dressers are really unwieldy things, right? They’re the Dawn Weiner of furniture: awkward and clunky. And they usually cost an arm and a leg. And a but. That but being But when done right they can really ground a room and even free up a lot of space.
I’ve never had a dresser in New York so this is new territory for me. I’m not thrilled about the idea of owning one. I tend not to see the potential for storage so much as how obnoxious it will be to hoof it up to my apartment and the very real possibility of pulling a Meryl down the stairs à la Death Becomes Her.
I have to get something for this wall. At 13 1/2 feet it’s a big canvas to fill. It needs to be long enough to handle the space and comfortably house a flat screen, but too big and it will look oppressive and cramped.
At first I found this extremely handsome sideboard at Restoration Hardware:
What a stud, huh? It’s a massive 6 foot long, 200 lbs thing of beauty. It has 3 banks of drawers—12 total—the wood has character and it would give enough room on each side of the TV to throw a lamp or three if I need it. My only concern was the hardware. Used sparingly bin pulls are evocative but as repetitive as this can be a tad kitschy. I would’ve liked to have replaced them with more understated ceramic knobs but RH couldn’t tell me how the pulls were fastened to the drawers or whether they could be switched at all. At $1295 that just didn’t fly with me, so I moved on.
Next I looked at West Elm. Again, a little pricey at $899 but it has character and I have yet to replace anything I’ve bought from them so far:
It’s rougher, which I dig, but it kind of just sits there, like a tube sock full of nickels. THUD. Also the drawers are not set on casters. For 900 spanks you should be getting a little more razzle-dazzle than just wood tracks, in my opinion. Know your worth and what’s important to you. Set standards and go from there.
Which brings me to Ikea. I hate to fall back on them because it feels sort of lazy of me, but in the end I’ve been defeated by the dresser Gods and Ikea offers affordable, workable solutions and I’m not Nate Berkus so don’t judge me:
They got it right with their Hemnes series. It’s substantial yet light and creates a presence without pulling focus, like any good supporting character. And at $269? That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.
THE ALCOVE
I’ve been batting around a few ideas on what to do with this sleeping alcove. Its shallow, oblong shape makes it a bit of a head scratcher. A space this size in a larger apartment could have endless possibilities but, in a studio as intimate as this, my options are cut by sixteenths. Whatever lives here will have to be multifunctional and make sense within the conversation of the rest of the house. Design speaks, right?
A wide, depthless space like this would be perfect for a desk, but like I said previously I don’t think it would get a whole lot of use. Also, throwing a desk back there feels like plugging a leaky boat with cork; functional but temporary. It would be nice if I could get a little more dimensionality in there somehow.
I’d like to clearly define the purpose of the space by putting something unique in it. Earlier I thought about using a foyer table smack in the center—an impractical, tongue-in-cheek response to living in a studio—but since the rest of the house will be maximizing every square inch it wouldn’t fit within the concept. The fact that there’s no guest seating really bothers me. I have a low bench I’ll be using below the kitchen window and a stool just opposite that (more to come) but those aren’t comfortable hitching posts. The only other place to sit is my bed, and I don’t like the idea of using a place of relaxation and rest for utility. So I racked my brain and came up with:
A classic
The Eames Lounge and Ottoman.
Surprisingly it will fit perfectly in the space and, paired with a nightstand I’ll be refurbishing and a chrome drafting light, will create a reading nook that also doubles as guest seating. Using a lounge here, along with more masculine metal fixtures, should help distance the space from the Mister Rogers vibe I was hoping to avoid by using a traditional armchair.
Now, there is a little controversy here. Because I’m designing on a budget there’s no way I could afford an original, which starts at $4,500, so I would need a replica. Coincidentally Dwell has a great article this month about the impact of designer knock-offs. Basically they say replicas are a huge blow to the balance of the design ecosystem and they’re right. I work in film production and we have torrent sites stealing our work and distributing it in lower resolutions. It feels like it shouldn’t be allowed to happen, but intellectual property law in the United States prohibits the trademark of functional items—where most modern design squarely falls. Certain elements can be protected but the government can’t safeguard a designer’s aesthetic.
The meat of the argument comes down to quality over quantity. Do you want to pay for a piece of shit that will last you 2 years or invest in the real thing and have it last for 20? It’s hard to say, if I’m being completely honest. I mean, I understand the intrinsic value in choosing to buy a dinning table from Pottery Barn and not from Target; a few hundred dollars more and you’ve got a piece of furniture that will last a few years longer than the other, saving you money. An Eames, however, has a gap thousands and thousands of dollars wide, and while the Pottery Barn/Target argument still stands I’ve had the good fortune within the past week to meet with two manufactures of replicas of surprisingly higher quality than the usual suspects, like Lexington Modern or Serenity Living (FYI buyer beware!), and for a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the price of an original. I know you get what you pay for and I accept that. I may be chucking an Eames in 5 years, but it’s 5 years with an Eames I wouldn’t have had otherwise.
Which leaves only the moral/ethical dilemma of it all. The Socialist in me says “No way! Don’t buy!”, the Libertarian says “Who cares? Do what you want.” The Socialist, “A dollar in their pocket is a dollar out of ours,” the Libertarian, “Herman Miller has been producing the Lounge since the mid 50s. They’re not hurting!” Socialist, “You’re an asshole!” Libertarian “Eat me.” To be continued…
Interestingly they include a quote from a guy named Jason Miller. It’s not clear if he’s a designer or a manufacturer, which might be the problem:
‘“What are you going to do as a designer, sit back and complain they’re acting immorally?” he asks. “That’s not going to pay the bills or make you feel better. You need to get to a place where they can’t knock you off—reach a level of craftsmanship or take a design risk that a knockoff company wouldn’t take. If you can’t create that individuality or specialness, it might be time to go back to the drawing board.”’
I’m not sure I agree with him, but it’s food for thought.
BRIGHT IDEA
I look at lighting less as a utilitarian tool and more as a mood setter. Yes, we need light to read and cook and see how how abysmally low our monthly bank statement is, but that doesn’t mean a 100W overhead fluorescent is the end all be all.
The problem with rentals of a certain price range is that most only have those 100Wers, no dimmers and lots of crude brass adornments. Since it’s not practical to rewire a house that’s not your own I’ve been looking at some simple solutions—quick fixes that are easy to install, look contemporary and diffuse light evenly within the apartment.
Ikea has some pretty serious pendants and I’m really drawn to this one. Since little of what I own is light or feminine, this Art Deco shade will be great at replicating the kind of structure and rigidity I plan on bringing to the rest of the space.
ThIS IS NOT AN ADVERTISEMENT FOR SCOTCHBLUE*
I taped out a floor plan as best I could. I think it’s a great way to visualize the space and what it can do for you, especially in such a tight spot like this where every inch is crucial.
You’ll notice the sleeping alcove is tape-free. I got frustrated and overwhelmed during my first go of it. I found a beautiful oblong foyer table at the Meeker Avenue Flea last weekend. The idea was to sand down the current finish, paint it in high-gloss electric blue and use it as tabletop storage for my laptop, lighting and maybe a grand vase, but when I measured it out in the space I found the alcove could accommodate a little more heft. While I’ve said previously that packing things into a space can be visually confusing so can not making the most of its potential. It’s like putting beanbag chairs in a living room with 14 foot ceilings—the proportions will be off and your eye won’t know where to look. Also, I live in a studio in Manhattan. Anyone walking through my door will immediately look to the overgrown coffee table and wonder why on Earth I would forgo all that space just to display some flowers. It would be a little Frances Farmer of me, me thinks.
Towards the end I got an idea I think might work. It would involve investing in a new piece of furniture, but I think I can undercut the cost by refinishing a piece I already own to compliment it.
*unless they’re paying me then yea it totally is
THIS MUST BE THE PLACE
This is the place. A studio on the Upper East Side that measures 1 square foot (rough estimate):
Closet, Sweet Closet
Well, more like 295 sf but for anyone not living in Manhattan it may as well be a utility closet.
This is the main living space. There is a door that leads to a small private patio, which the sleeping alcove overlooks. The kitchen and bathroom are just opposite. The floor plan is open but toight (pronounced t-OY-t). Each piece of furniture will have to serve two functions at the very least—there can’t be any excess fat!—as well as makes sense within the layout.
Here’s a detail of the sleeping alcove:
Soak in the ambiance
It measures approx 5’ x 4 1/2’. I’m opting not to put my bed in that deathtrap. Doing so would give myself a little more than and inch of clearance on each side, so although it would free up a lot of space in the center of the apartment, maybe even allowing for a couch, I think I value nighttime reading under a lamp and unbruised elbows more.
A desk would be the other natural thing to put here but I’ve decided against it. I sit behind one every day and when I come home I almost never use my own to write. More often than not I’m in bed or laying on the couch while I type, so I’m going to try just getting by with only an armchair. This way it can be a comfortable workspace and double as seating for a friend. The only problem is the alcove is wide and shallow. Filling it with a chair, end table and reading light might come off a little too Mister Rogers Neighborhood, ya know? Either way I can tell this space is going to give me some trouble.
This is the reverse view, looking towards the kitchen and bathroom:
I dig the window into the kitchen in a mod sort of way. You can almost smell the upside down pineapple bundt cake in the oven. And it really helps the space feel bigger. The ceiling light is garish. Eesh. Will have to do something to soften it.
One size fits no one
See that closet? That one right there? That’s the only one in the joint. Everything I have to hide—winter coats, suits, suitcases, linens, shoes, broom, vacuum, documents, dog toys, dead bodies—will be happening in there, and it’s a full foot shorter (length and width-wise) than the space I currently keep all those things in.
If someone comes over and asks where the magics happens, I will point to the closet and not the bed.
This is the kitchen:
There’s ample cupboard space. And that’s the only ample thing about it.
I mean, where’s the beef, man? A dreidel has more top than this counter. There’s no dishwasher so unless I can think of another way to dry my dishes a drying rack will really dominate the space. After that I won’t have room for much else, maybe a salt shaker or two. I have an electric mixer, but that can fit in the drawers below, and a coffee maker which will need to be pitched for a more easily stow-able French press.
I’m a big believer in the power of negative space. Don’t put something somewhere just because the space can accommodate it; it has to make sense and look clean. Clean space, clean mind. When I see a space so cluttered I can’t see the counter below I go all Roger Rabbit after a shot of whiskey.
Bathroom:
Don’t look directly at it
Yup. At least there’s plenty of storage which will give The Magic Closet a little break, but the real trick will be trying to make this room feel open and dehumidified despite not having a window.
There’s not enough room to place a small linen closet (I was hoping for this one from Ikea). I’d have to sidestep out of the shower every morning to get around it.
#adultlife
Since I can’t demo a window and there’s no space for furniture, I think the best way to get some character in here is through the fixtures. Towel hooks instead of racks, vintage cabinet knobs, a very cool bamboo mat and that may be it. Fix what you can and forget the rest!
The patio off the back door has an enormous ventilation duct cutting it in half, so I’m choosing to be optimistic and see it as an opportunity to define separate dinning and workout areas. In the rental market of Manhattan you have to make some lemonade, even if it’s not in your nature. Depending on the power situation, I think something as easy as a few strings of globe lights draped across each side of the fence will do it.
Outdoor space is rare in the city and you never know how long you’ll be allowed to stay in your current apartment (angry super, decisive management company, hoards of marauding cockroaches). I’m loathe to invest in outdoor furniture right now considering a) I need to use those funds elsewhere and b) I may be packing up next year and moving to a place where I won’t be able to use it. If a deal comes along, great, but I’m not going to stretch myself thin just for aesthetics.
Design is only effective when you’re comfortable and enjoying it. If you look at something and think, “Why did I invest in this?” why use it? The anxiety will ruin even the most idyllic space, so get ready for some plastic stacking chairs from the grocery store!
And one last thing, a look inside the mind of an anal retentive, Type-A mad man:
It’s like John Nash getting slapped in the mouth with a herring by the Swedish Chef—detailed but incomprehensible.
Hurdy durdy durdy hurdy!
BIG THINGS ARE HAPPENING
After years of chore charts and shower schedules, hand-me-down sofas and socks on doorknobs I’m living on my own for the very first time ever. No more figuring out who drunkenly ate the last of my eggplant parm or politely tip-toeing around euphemisms for I Heard You Having Sex Last Night.
What may seem to most as an eventual stepping stone to adulthood, living by my lonesome has eluded me thus far. I’ve been yoked with roommates for nearly 30 years now! That’s a voluntary manslaughter sentence, or the lifespan of a cockatoo.
My first cohabitants were my parents and older brother. At roughly 17 years, they were by far the longest roommates I’ve had. They gave me emotional and financial support, kept me fed, bathed and clothed, and never asked me to go in on a pizza when I only ate one slice. On paper they were ideal. However, they did cut my hair with kitchen sheers, use dial-up and pee with the door open, so despite their plentiful Pro’s their Con’s cup ranneth over.
College was much of the same; dorm rooms, communal bathrooms, paper-thin walls. There was very little privacy. You were in trouble if you didn’t like Incubus because someone somewhere was always playing them and you heard it. You needed a bathroom caddy and flip-flops just to shower. You had a hotplate. When you finally ascended to the ranks of living off-campus everything was shabby and temporal. The carpets smelled like fungus and the closets smelled like fungus and the couches smelled like fungus too and no one cared because in 6 months you and your friends would be moving to a new house and some other sad sack would have to deal with smelling like fungus for a short while. Everything was dirty.
Then I got to New York and realized everything could be dirtier. And more expensive! Because the market and the demand are so astronomically high compromise is a necessity. You have a dishwasher, but you have no cupboards to keep plates. You have a bathroom, but it’s in your kitchen. You can’t leave your house at night, but who needs to when you can turn around in your bedroom! In a place like this—where managing to avoid bedbug infestation is considered a triumph—there is strength in numbers, which is why for the better part of five years I lived in Harlem with four other friends in a “charming” 3BR convertible. Slowly but surely I worked my way down from four roommates to one, down from 125th Street to 50th, and here I’ve been for the last three years. Living with Kaitlin has been comfortable if not almost totally normal, but at 28 the need to sit pantless on the couch with a beer has won over the duty to save money by splitting utilities.
The decision to live on my own in this city wasn’t without sacrifice, determination and a little hard-won confidence. In less than two weeks I’ll be moving into my first apartment. This is a momentous occasion, and like all momentous occasions it’s being shared with anonymous strangers over the Internet.
Wish me luck as I turn a house into a home!
This Is Not A House 