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Our Lady of Paris

I skipped work on Monday to prepare for the upcoming sale. Before the sales go live I have to shoot everything, measure everything and think of something interesting to say about everything. And I love doing it, I love every part of these sales, but they take some time, not including the actual hunt for the objects, because I could do that forever and never grow tire. But the preparation for the items to go live on the site, takes some time that I don't normally have. So, last Monday, I skipped work, "I am just feeling awful, I think I need to take a sick day." I hung up the phone and immediately set up the "photo studio" that I have at home. It was a kit from amazon. As I plugged in the lights and begin to position my first object, the power went out. The longest groan came out of my mouth as I sank to the floor. Anytime anything slightly inconvenient happens I immediately begin wondering and asking the sky, "why me?" but that's because I'm dramatic and still convinced that the world solely exists and functions around me.
After sitting on the floor unable to move for 10 minutes, I finally got up and called the power company to be told that they were doing maintenance it wouldn't be back on until 5:30 that night. I tried to tell them that my whole day was planned around having electricity, but they didn't care. After moping around the apartment and failing at the attempt of napping all day, I decided that I was just going to have to be productive outside the home instead. No matter how torturous that sounded. So I packed up a bag, as if I were a toddler caring for themselves and walked towards Sunset Blvd. Baby's day out. I was mildly productive, I went to the dry cleaners, Starbucks and the nail salon. The sweet lady who always gives me the strongest hand massages let me charge my laptop while I got a manicure, so I counted that stop as necessary. While deciding between off beige and off white for my polish, I got the news. 
Notre Dame was on fire. 
Notre Dame was built in 1163, a date that is permanently etched into my brain from countless reports about every aspect of this building. The first time I ever visited the Church was in 2006 on my first trip to Paris. I bought a rosary from the gift shop and then wore it like a necklace. I wish I had the fashion balls that I used to have.

I studied art history while going to the American University of Paris, so visiting various churches throughout Paris was just part of the curriculum. I would write report after report, I would always wait until the last moment to write my essay because I found that was when I was allowed to complain the most and also that my best work was done in one long sitting. I probably had to write five essays on Notre Dame during my four years in Paris, each one I dreaded. I hated going to Notre Dame, from the lines outside, to the people taking photos, to the tour guides bumping into me. I hated getting assigned a project that required me to go inside. The outside I tolerated, because I could usually use the phrase 'flying buttress' then and that always makes  me laugh. 
This past February, I went into the Church, as I figured it would probably be my last time in Paris for a while, so might as well. Ty and I walked right in, no line, on a Sunday. There was mass going on, in Latin. The church felt real. It didn't feel like a tourist trap as I believed it was turning into. Everyone was there for a reason other than to get a photo in front of the rose window. We made our way all the way around the apex, picking up a Rosary at the end. That rosary now hangs in my living room next to the rosary I bought on my very first visit to Notre Dame.
It feels very strange to mourn a building. Especially since it didn't disappear completely, it's still standing for the most part. But, it's not the first time Our Lady of Paris has been damaged.
Perhaps one of my favorite pieces of information that I learned from studying Notre Dame, was that during the French Revolution, as a symbol for the uprising and hatred for the Catholic Church, all the heads of the sculptures at the front entrance, were beheaded! How amazingly dramatic is that! It's so French! The entire statue wasn't destroyed, the heads were carefully cut off and then hidden! 21 of the 28 heads have been found over the years and are now at the Cluny Museum. I can only wonder what lucky son of a bitch has one of the missing heads sitting in his studio apartment. These heads are very large too, it must take up at least half of his kitchenette and he'll have to call a few buddies over to help him move it before he can make "un cafe". 
But with the help of Napoleon and Victor Hugo, the church was restored not only physically, but within the hearts of the people of Paris. Napoleon held his coronation here in the 1800's and Victor Hugo created the main character in most of my nightmares from age 6 to 10, the Hunchback. Also, the nickname my mother called me. But, the Hunchback saved Notre Dame in the eyes of a Parisian. "Victor Hugo used it as a kind of rallying cry for people to look at these monuments like Notre Dame that seemed to represent a sort of old order that was really dead, but now to look at it as a historical monument, as a sign of French ingenuity, French pride, French history, European history, human history." Jacqueline Jung, art historian. 
In the 1860's, the renovation of Notre Dame was underway, lead by Eugene Viollet-le-Duc. Viollet-le-Duc got a little carried away with his power, and began to add additional decorative touches to the building. For example, the famous gargoyles outsider are actually his creation and are not original to the church. Many of the features of the exterior are actually Viollet-le-Duc's doing, but were done so well that it's almost impossible to tell.

Then, in 1871, a group of crazies tried to burn the cathedral down, but failed. Notre Dame stood relatively unharmed until WWII, when Paris became a battleground. Most of my knowledge of WWII (specifically how it affected Paris) is from a photo exhibit I saw with my mom at the Louvre when I was about 13 years old. It showed Paris during the war, and focused mainly on the preparation and protective actions that were taken to protect Paris. This may have been the exhibit that made me fall in love with art history. These photographs were so haunting and beautiful that I couldn't get enough. I walked through that room at least 15 times, soaking up each photograph. I've tried to find the complete collection online, but haven't succeeded yet. 

There's an element that creates a sense of urgency to get the art out and the architecture protected. They're almost spooky. Anything spooky always has my heart.
I can't think of a good segway into this news, but I guess both of these things have to do with Paris? 
The Have Some Decorum Shop is getting all new items tomorrow! 
6am, so set your alarms! I've decided to get on an every other week schedule for the shop. I'm really committing y'all! So every other Monday, about 15 items or so will be launched, mostly antiques, but sometimes some coffee table books that I'm obsessed with or reproductions that would blow your mind. The antiques are from various cities around the world. Most of them are from Paris from the antique dealers that my mom formed a relationship with at the Marche aux Puces as well as the local brocantes. Some of the items I have found at local California flea markets, like the Rose Bowl. The Rose Bowl is in Pasadena and only happens once a month. I was hesitant to visit the Rose Bowl at first, as I thought it would just be kitschy vintage Coca Cola signs and used pants. Oh was I wrong. I scored here. The antique dealers have pieces from France, Italy,  Japan, China, everywhere!
While there are some major differences between the Rose Bowl and the Puces, mainly that they don't sell bacon wrapped hot dogs at the Marche aux Puces, there are some major similarities. All around the world, people love French antiques. I totally understand why though, they're the best. I met two older men who have a booth every month at the Rose Bowl, and of course they're French. I knew right away when I walked up to their booth at 8am and they were 12 sheets to the wind. The smell of Pinot Noir drew me in. They import pieces from Paris and sell them here in California. But, they only have this booth once a month at the flea market, and the other 29 days of the month are spent smoking. I love them. One of the items I purchased from them might be my favorite thing ever.

David used to have these at our house in Montecito. They're shoe mold bookends and they're fabulous. The wood is so wonderfully old, I was told they were from the early 1900's and then just recently set into bookends with modern bases. They're pretty heavy as well, so they can hold a good amount of books together without slipping. Someone better buy these before David does.

Another find from the Rose Bowl are these antique candlesticks from the 17th century from a California Mission. And they're a pair, I love pairs! I love the Californian Mission style, it reminds me so much of Santa Barbara and the Spanish influence. These candlesticks are still preserved while clearly 100's of years old. The green paint is chipping throughout to expose the wood underneath, with hints of gold leaf.  These really belong near someone's fireplace. You gotta be careful with the California Mission style though, there is bad mission and then there's good mission. I think the main difference between the good and the bad is that the good has a lot of white bases. White walls, white couches, white curtains. Then deep colors in the decor, like these green candlesticks. While the bad has a lot of terracotta. The good is basically Diandra Douglas's house in Montecito... Use her house for reference of everything you should ever try to copy. She was the one that started my mom's obsession with horns. Diandra had large horns on her coffee tables, laid across the coffee table book that had her house on the cover. Now, if that is not a possibility in your own home, any coffee table book with suffice. 

This basket has had a long journey all the way from Paris. I love a wicker basket, but I especially love a wicker basket from the 1800's. There is a beautiful floral decorative aspect that runs all around the outside. It looks like it used to be painted even at one point. It is not a soft basket either, it has a glaze like coating on the outside, I think it would make a great spot for a huge white orchid if you were to put the basket on a table. But, the basket is also large enough to be left on the floor, maybe with a small indoor tree!
If any of these are of any interest to you, email me at and I can hold it for you!! All of these items will be for sale tomorrow morning along with many more antiques. 
Also.... there's still some discounts on last week's sale available. 

Let Them Eat Cake

If I saw someone walking around, wearing a clear plastic poncho, I would think that person needs to go home. If I saw that person wearing that poncho at Versailles, I would call the park ranger. Never did I think, that person, would be my mother. 
In the summer of 2008, my mom and grandmother decided that we were going to live in Paris forever. Their store, Circa, had just closed and they needed something to do. I needed to go to school, but that was beside the point. My mom pulled me into her room a month before we left for Paris and asked me, "What do you think about going to the American high school in P-" She didn't even finish her sentence before I started crying. As a girl who had just graduated middle school, I assumed I wouldn't be crying as much as I had the year before, but I was wrong. I was probably going to cry more this summer, than I did the entire age of 3.
We were almost 3 years away from my mom getting ALS, so my biggest source of despair at the time was the thought of going to high school in fucking France. At this age, I hadn't yet discovered that I had crippling social anxiety, my mom had always just told me that I was shy. She then followed this statement up by "and shyness leads to rudeness." She didn't understand that I could barely handle the idea of going to high school surrounded by kids I had known since I was 6 years old, let alone the meer thought of attending a new school filled with French kids. The boys would most likely be wearing skinny jeans and the girls would already be smoking. French teenagers are the worst and I wasn't ready for that! I wasn't going through life shy, I was going through life afraid of everyone. I wasn't just afraid of people that looked like they were going to kidnap me and take me to Albania to live in a room without windows on a fat man's yacht. I was afraid of what people thought of me, what people would think when I spoke, or did anything at all. I am still this way, I am always embarrassed. I try to never stand out. My desire to wear Uggs in public is overshadowed by the meer thought of someone seeing me in them in the first place. My social anxiety hasn't gotten any better over the years, but I found that a gin & tonic helps ease it a little bit. 
But, back to Paris. The idea of moving to Paris was always brought up, I just thought it would be one of those things my mom brought up but never followed through with, like laser hair removal. But, to my dismay, we had booked one way tickets to Paris that June. For some reason my mom and I were flying in earlier than my grandmother. I later realized this is because my mom bought us two business class tickets and didn't want my grandmother to know. If anyone should have the access to a lazy boy while flying it should be my grandmother. She is terrified of flying and probably would have been soothed by the unlimited mini ice cream sandwiches. I on the other hand, looked like a complete asshole. My feet didn't touch the floor and I thought nothing of it to bother the flight attendant every 6 minutes to ask how much longer we had to go and then if I could get a refill on my Sprite. 
A few weeks into our trip, my mom decided that I could use a walk. We went to Versailles, but it was a special day at Versailles. Every summer, Versailles puts on garden parties after the traditional tourist hours end. Anyone can go to these garden parties, you just have to reserve your spot in advance. And since my mom was my mom, she planned this day well in advance. These garden parties have now be replaced with the Festival of Versailles, but it looks about the same. Fireworks, champagne, treats.... It's the first two weekends of July this year, so if you're in the neighborhood, you really should go.

During our day at Versailles, we rowed boats, ate ice cream, sat in the grass and then played my mom's favorite game, embarrass Gracie. She loved this game more than she loved Bravo, so take that Andy Cohen. The game was usually played with an accompanying threat. This time, I had to ride a minute pony around the grounds or else my new Zara cardigan would be ripped off my body and thrown into the Seine. I have always loved Zara and I would do anything for it. So, I got on the pony. My feet touched the ground. The helmet was slightly too small for my head so it just rested on the crown of my un-brushed hair, I looked like an inbred queen on that pony. My mom had never laughed so hard. Later that trip, I think she felt bad for me and instead of threatening me, she paid me $100 to try on a pair of hammer pants for her. I did it with a smile. 
I got off the horse and thought that would be the end of the game for the day. I started to relax and enjoy myself again. The sun started to go down and the little bit of fog overhead, started to turn into rain. Uh oh. The firework show hadn't even started, we didn't even visit the macaroon station yet! We looked at each other, my eyes filled with fear, hers with creativity. She grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the little stands selling magnets and pens to stupid dummies.
"Excusez-moi, vendez-vous des parapluies?" She asked in her best French accent. 
"Non, mais j'ai ceux-ci a vendre" He said and held up a clear plastic poncho. The type I made fun of when I saw a family of 7 wearing them on Splash Mountain just earlier that year. The type that looked like you were getting ready to eat a whole bunch of shellfish. There was no way I would be caught dead in this poncho, especially after the pony incident. My little heart could only take so much!
But as I started to cross my arms in pure rage, my mom handed the man a few Euros, took two ponchos, and slipped hers on. I shot her a look like I had risen from the dead.
"Oh don't be such a baby, just wear the poncho." She looked like an idiot in it with her turtle neck sweater that she wore all summer, just like Diane Keaton, peaking out from the "neck hole" of the trash bag, I mean poncho. But, she didn't care. And wait, if she didn't care, should I not care either? She had a whole lot more to loose putting this thing on. She had friends to impress! She had a boyfriend to find! The most I had was chaffed thighs and soon to be frizzy hair.
See, my mom was the coolest. She had an undeniable cool factor about her. This was something I never admitted to her, and that's fine, she knew she was cool. She was so cool that she didn't care or notice that I never told her I thought she was cool! I'm happy I never told her I thought she was cool, that's just something no mom should ever hear from their daughter, it's just a rule. 
So there I was watching the coolest person I knew, put on something so lame. While such a minuscule event in the world, it was such a milestone for me. If she didn't care, why should I? I took the second plastic poncho, and slipped it on. I had to fight my own inner voice telling me to stop, drop and roll, but I managed to wear that poncho. Wow, what freedom, I thought to myself. I swayed side to side, testing out the space. When it really started to rain, I loved that I was hands free. I was free to pick off leaves of bushes as I walked by because I wasn't holding an umbrella. Did I discover who I really meant to be? A poncho wearing tween? 
A few weeks later, I was in Printemps in Paris when I stumbled upon a rack of ponchos, and these weren't plastic. They were cashmere. I immediately told my mom that the grey cashmere poncho with the bedazzled "Sucker for Love"  on the back and fringe on the arm holes, was what I wanted for my birthday. And a few weeks later, I wore that poncho without a hint of embarrassment. 
That trip to Versailles, didn't only help me get over thinking that the entire world was just waiting to make fun of me, but I also learned a little history as well. I started to notice that all throughout Versailles, were symbols. One in particular was the sun, which was the symbol for Louis XIV, also known as the Sun King. Now if you're like me and get most of your French history from Sofia Coppola's movie Marie Antoinette, Louis XIV was the great, great, great grandfather of Marie Antoinette's husband, Louis XVI (played by Jason Schwartzman). 

Louis XIV moved from the royal palace from the Louvre, to Versailles, where he quickly made his mark around there. The kings emblem was the God Apollo's face surrounded by rays of light, creating the sunburst motif. He didn't invent this though, there are traces of the sunburst all throughout history. In the Pope's palace of Avignon from the 16th century, there are sunburst motifs all throughout the chapel. It was believed that it represented the face of God overlooking the People. In Jan van Eyck's painting Arnolfini Portrait, from the 15th century, if you look at the background, there is a sunburst mirror. Slightly more subtle than the King Louis XIV version, but nonetheless the same. 

And now for the point of all this....

And guess what, I found a sunburst mirror and I managed to not keep it for myself! 

I also have three ex-votos or sacred hearts. I always appreciated these pieces. My mom had one on almost every bedside table during my childhood. She picked up her first ex-voto while we were in Paris on this trip. I always thought they were purely decorative until I was at the Marche aux Puces and had David translate to me what the dealer was rambling on and on about. After that, I knew I needed more of these. So, I bought some for myself and some for the sale. While an ex-voto doesn't have to be a heart, I find the hearts to be my favorite. Here's something interesting I read while trying to remember if I learned about these at Catholic school....
"This gilded metal Sacré Coeur or Sacred Heart is a Roman Catholic ex-voto from France. Ex-votos (from the Latin phrase ex-voto suscepto, meaning ‘from the vow made’) were – and still are – carried as devotional objects and to give thanks for granted wishes, prayers and intentions. 
The cult of the Sacred Heart can be traced to the 11th century. It gained popularity in the 17th century when a French nun named Marguerite-Marie Alacoque experienced visions of Jesus Christ, in which he spoke to her and showed her his heart, entwined with thorns and flames and surmounted by a cross. She devoted herself and her country to the veneration of his heart, and established a Sacred Heart feast day. 
In 1720, thirty years after Marguerite’s death, the bishop of Marseilles consecrated his diocese to the Sacred Heart in an attempt to spare the district from a plague that was sweeping across Europe. The city quickly recovered from the outbreak, and the Sacred Heart became a popular emblem worn for protection against danger and disease. 
During the French Revolution (1789–1799), patriotic Catholics again wore the Sacred Heart emblem for protection by stitching it to their clothing. It became the symbol of royalist counter-revolution for those who opposed the Republic. Today, the Sacré Coeur basilica in Paris, completed in 1914, stands over the city as a giant ‘ex-voto’: a monument to Catholicism and a symbol of national identity."

As that trip came to end, I learned that we were moving back to Santa Barbara, I was going to start being home schooled, that King Louis XIV had the best taste, and that my mom lied, ponchos were not cool.
The sale is officially live, email me with any questions or requests!

The Ellie Files

March 23rd was my mom's birthday. I always celebrate her birthday with a brunch of some sort. I don't remember my mom ever being a lady who brunches, but we both loved eggs benedict, so I figured I'll make a tradition out of it. So, this Saturday, I went to the Chateau Marmont with Ty in honor of my mom turning 49. It's crazy to think how young she was, still is. Not even 50, and I'm already lying about my age. I'm 23, and will be 24 in August. But I don't think I'm there yet and so I am going to be 23 again this year. I started lying about my age on my 1st 23rd birthday. It's not a vanity reason, I still look 15 but not in a good way. I do not think I'm ready to be a year closer to renting a car. I don't know the first thing about renting a car or loyalty programs, so I'm going to put that off for another few years.
Chateau Marmont was beautiful. I immediately noticed that they had the Anduze pots that my mom always loved, so there was my sign I was in the right spot. But, the only thing I can really think about when going to the Chateau Marmont is that John Belushi died there. I guess I also think about whether or not Lindsay Lohan had puked where I'm standing or not.
Aside from all the celebrities and the fact that it's 100% haunted, the Chateau Marmont has a pretty interesting history in regards to the architecture.
It was modeled after the Cheateau d'Amboise, which is believed to be Leonardo Da Vinci's resting place. He's either buried there, or underneath an airport parking garage, no one knows. In the 1930's, there was an act put into place called the Motion Picture Code and then followed by the Purity Seal in 1934. These two codes basically prohibited anything offensive or lude being shown on the screen as well as any wild behavior from the stars in their actual lives. Sounds so boring. If this wasn't abolished, everything we love today wouldn't exist. The only thing Kris Jenner would be managing would be a Denny's. So, with all the fun taken away, these stars needed somewhere to go to all be hot together. "If you must get in trouble, do it at the Chateau Marmont."
And to bring it all the way back to last week, the bungalows, where Belushi died of an overdose, were designed by Craig Ellwood, the dude who did Case Study Houses.

Anyways, back to the woman who most definitely was a Chateau Marmont regular...
My mom once told me that she got robbed by four guys with AK-47's after a Chateau Marmont party. She was walking to the car with her date. He had parked a few blocks away because he was too cheap to use Valet and didn't trust anyone to drive his '89 Toyota Celica. On there way to the car, a big black Suburban pulled up next to them. My mom immediately held her Chanel bag a little bit tighter. Out got four guys in ski masks, pointing AK-47's at them, "Give us the bag and your wallet." My mom handed over her bag because she had $12 on her ATM card and the bag was fake. Her date dared to ask, "I'll give you my wallet, but can you let me get my SAG card out first? I have an audition tomorrow." I think it was at the moment, my mom told herself she wouldn't be in L.A. for much longer.

Because I was my moms favorite and I guess also only child, I got everything of hers, too bad the fake Chanel was stolen.... But I got her passwords. The past two years I've spent snooping through her emails, finding out everything about everyone. Most of her emails are exchanging stories or recapping phone calls, but then there's some good stuff. Like the drafts. I discovered her drafts this weekend. I don't know how my detective skills failed me to only think to go there now. But, it seemed like a birthday gift from her for me for her (I lost myself). The drafts were a gift that kept on giving. Little pieces of my mom that I hadn't seen before. It was a new to me. When you lose someone, you also lose the idea that you will ever experience anything new from them. So, this felt pretty remarkable. None of the emails were meant for me though, I guess I was important enough for her to never leave "You're grounded. Sincerely, Mommy" in the outbox.

Along with the email drafts, there are also unpublished blog drafts. They are jumbled and brief, but I wanted to share them with you all, because that's who they were meant for. So here's seven of them!


Assoulines new 'Gypset Style' book. I rode my bike in 102° weather in Paris to Saint Germain to get this book. Then rode home with it swingin' on my handlebars to get to my little cafè, order a vin rouge and settle in and look at it front to back. Clever book. I am partial to these nomadic bohemians as I just spent 3 months traveling around Paris, London, and Spain and enrolled my daughter in high school online homeschooling. Works for me! The author, Julia Chaplin, gives a history on gypsies and their evolution from the beginning to the now chic "Gypset Style" with the likes of Jade Jagger and Damien Hirst.

The Louvre during the War. I spent June and July in Paris this summer and saw many unforgettable sites but one in particular was really moving. It was one of those days that at the end of the day you say, "Wow, that was a great day." My daughter and I walked to the American Church in Paris, listened to a nice service, said our prayers, then headed to the George V Hotel for tea. Already a great day. We decided after our decadent teatime we needed some culture so we walked to the Louvre. This is why I love Paris. You can wake up and say, "Oh, lets go see the Mona Lisa today then go to the park." The good fortune I had with this opportunity to live in Paris for 2 months was never lost on me. I appreciated every second of it. So, we walked the Louvre for a bit and came upon an exhibit that was facinating. Just facinating. It was called, 'Le Louvre pendant la guerre.' The Louvre during the war. The exhibit featured photographs of the mass evacuation of the museum's most treasured pieces during the Second World War. The Mona Lisa was removed from the museum on August 29, 1939 and on September 3rd a decision was made to evacuate the most cherished works by the end of the day. Paintings, sculptures and statues were driven away from their home of the Louvre to chateax in the French countryside safe from the threat of bombings.


Exciting day here at the "villa."
I am staying here at my friends house for a bit. Poor me. She lives in New York and has decided to sell my dream house. So, I am helping her stage it a bit. Not that it needs any help. But, a few months ago, after the fires she did take some of her "accessories" back to NY. Now that the house is for sale, we need the "accessories" back in the house to make it look a bit more lived in. I would live here even if it was empty and had no heat mind you. But others are more picky so today is the day that the shipment arrives!!!! I have been eagerly awaiting this shipment like a 5 year old waiting for Santa Claus. I will post some "before" pictures today and tomorrow I will do the "after" pictures.

One part of the living room. I have already added the orchids and the big banana tree.

Other have of the living room. I added this tree too. I realize it looks beautiful as it is but I have seen it in its glory and it needs a little "ummph."

I was waiting for friends last night who asked me to meet them in the lobby of the Gansevoortd Hotel on Park in NY. As I sat there, I looked around and I thought, "What the....?" I and looked at the white pleather low chairs, the ultra high back upholstered chairs, and every other bit of mix 'n match decor, I thought, " Boutique hotels have gotten out of control." The idiom "give an inch, take a mile" comes to mind. The websters definition of boutique hotel is:  "Boutique hotel is a term popularized in North America and the United Kingdom to describe intimate, usually luxurious or quirky hotel environments." Quirky now apparently means, "ridiculous." Here's what I mean:

 The Gansevoort Hotel Park Ave in New York. Boutique hotel does not have to mean: Lets throw in every single noncohesive (is that a word?) piece of furniture that we can find and call it a "boutique hotel." By the way, I am all for boutique hotels. In fact I would really only stay in a boutique hotel but there is a fine line between boutique and stupid.

These are stupid:
The SLS hotel in LA. Seriously?
The Soho House in NY

The following are my ideas of  great boutique hotels:
Hotel Costes in Paris. I would like my ashes spread here, please.
The Bowery Hotel. This is good. Its unusual without being insultive.
 Gramercy Park Hotel

I've been thinking a lot about style lately.  I am working on a show about style hopefully to be picked up by a network so I have been actually putting some thought into this.  As I think about what is stylish, I am also thinking about what is NOT stylish. Then today as I watched my zillionth episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians I realized that Scott Disick is NOT stylish. Watch this video...

He is like the bully in high school who became a big bully adult.  His parents should be monetarily fined or something for releasing this idiot out into the world.  I am actually embarrassed that I even know his name. He is definitely NOT stylish.

Ok, is no one going to say it??? Do I have to be the one to say it? No other blogger has mentioned it. What am I talking about, you ask?? I am talking about how crappy the Kipps Bay Showcase House is. Total disaster.  There were only 3 passable rooms. The other rooms looked like monkeys decorated it.

There were fake wisteria branches on the front of the house. I don't care who you are or where you are or why you are don't ever use fake flowers. Especially at a NY designers showcase house. Jeez.

Then came the entry. The pink table is cool but they should have stopped with the "funky" at that. If  I were the owner of this house and was left with those stupid boxes on the wall I would be p.o.'ed. I think it would have been better if they used the pink table and then built in a curved seating area with great fabric. And gotten rid of that crap on the walls.

 The next room was "The Library." This room had a bad case of "too much stuff." And too much bad stuff at that. A fake malchite chair. A fake malachite table with big fake grapes under it. Oh my god.

stuff stuff stuff

FYI....that is like a  plastery fake plant. Oh, and more stuff. The only good thing in the bookcases are the books by Assouline. Go Assouline!

 The next room was the dining room. I think this was original Chinese-y wallpaper which is fine but for gods sake don't add more Chinese to it. This designer added a buddha thing, then Chinese side tables and in the end it looked like a wholesale Chinese import warehouse.


Look, I'm all for a space age cutting edge laundry room. Actually, I'd be happy with ANY laundry room but come on!

Yep. This room was that particular color of blue that makes you want to kill yourself.

I swear to god, this was on the ceiling.

This is my nephews college dorm room. OOPS! No, it is the media room of the NYC showcase house. Jesus.

This is the room where I decided I wanted my money back.
There were 3 kinda sorta good rooms.....

This room was kinda cool. I like the old paneling with the hot pink walls.

 This is cool. It does not annoy me one bit.

This room by Campion Platt was cool. The walls were awesome. I also like the "curved in the corner" woodwork.

Remember when I posted about that cool bike/wheelchair? Well a funny thing happened... I thought I would need that wheelchair when I was old, but it turns out I need it now. Since my last post, my life has been turned upside down. To make a long story short, when I was happily living my life in New York, working at my dream job at, a sweet Russian neurologist discovered, that I have ALS. I have never heard of it either. It's pretty awful, google it. I took a year off of blogging to research, cry, see every doctor from California to Paris, get a couple of operations, learn that OxyCodon really is hillbilly herion and really can make you turn suicidal in the middle of the night in ones bathroom, become gluten free, learn who my real friends are, discover what a duductable is, move into a great big house with a great big yard, move into a small cottage by the beach, learn that doctors dont know everything, got married, learn that my husband doesnt care how many shots, supplements and surguries, that it takes to make me well, he just wants me well, and try to naturally heal myself from a disease that has no cure. All of this while trying to somehow make it all okay for my daughter. I had no interest in design for a good year. Now I like it again, so I thought I would start blogging again. There has been so much change in the design world with all of the editors flip-flopping from one magazine to another. One month, architectural digest is the best Then out of the blue lowly house beautiful is the best. I used to feel That I Could not be honest While discussing design or designers. What if I needed a job from these people one day. Well that has all changed now that I will never be able to work again. So I really don't care I'm going to call a spade a spade. Let's start with this...