Having mindlessly made my new romance protag, Darcy Flannigan, an “interior designer” while having absolutely no idea what interior designers actually do, I gradually panicked. By the end of the second tale in the series, my repertoire of design experience (which consists entirely of choosing paint colors based on their cute names, like “Chaucer’s Sandal” and “Fennel Ice”) was depleted.
Luckily, I live within walking distance of a community college and quickly signed up for a class called Intro to Interior Design. By Book 3 in the series Darcy will be able to discuss something other than paint! On Mondays and Wednesdays I now travel to a strange new world in which close friendships, even marriages, may be lost over the choice between low-voltage halogen or metal halide bulbs for the soffit lighting in somebody’s master bedroom. (I gamely conceal the fact that I have no idea what a “soffit” even is.)
The first assignment involves selecting “happy, unhappy, masculine and feminine” rooms from trendy design magazines and explaining why they’re happy, unhappy, masculine or feminine. Despite probably not sharing typical associations with these terms, I’m sure I can fake it. See what you think.
I was sold at the bulldog.
Happy. Any room with a dog in it is happy, even a dog statue! And who wouldn’t love a warm chat with a friend while relaxing on a luxe velvet couch in whatever hotel lobby this is? Bashing your head on that ridiculous and dangerously low chandelier every time you reach for your drink on the coffee table will only bring gales of laughter and years of happy memories.
Kitchen or embalming room?
Unhappy. Reminiscent of self-consciously post-modern black and white horror films set in abandoned mortuaries, this agonizingly hi-tech kitchen is not meant for cooking. It’s meant for the sound of Ann Sexton’s ringing phone that no one ever answers, followed by absolute, grinding silence. The most stalwart fava bean or avocado would roll in terror through that intimidating arch and vanish into a street outside named “Nevermore.”
Aren’t those chair legs kinda spindly?
Masculine. These leather chairs are big enough to seat any NFL tackle and seem to glower menacingly at each other like boxers before the bell. Books shelved in weird round things behind the scene suggest that there are ways to resolve conflict other than violence, but the chairs are too pumped on testosterone to notice. Good thing the designer chose that subtly patterned and durable half-inch closed-loop nylon carpeting, since it provides sure footing for fight or flight and easy blood clean-up!
The most gorgeous shower on earth and it’s wallpaper!
Feminine. Georgia O’Keeffe on estrogen? Pastel clouds swirl around a water lily in lush, criminally expensive artistry celebrating a mythical female core of breathtaking beauty. This Italian waterproof wallpaper is meant for the shower of a 1% lady, and bound to be written up, with photos, in the local paper. Which will say something like, “Mrs. John Beresford Tipton chose ‘Lily’ for the shower in her elegantly understated 500-square-foot bathroom as a reminder of the poorly-lit reflecting pond in which her first three husbands mysteriously drowned.”
(Stay tuned for pics from next week’s field trip to a high-end furniture gallery where you have to show a designer’s license just to get in!)
abigail padgett 