issue no. 1: on antiquing
How old is too old? How vintage is too vintage?
The premiere volume of Love and Other Rugs is presented by Backdrop.
dating older men & buying vintage sofas.
When I was 25, I went on a date with a forty-year old man. He thought I was thirty, I thought he was thirty and my biggest regret was not asking about his skincare routine. For our first date, we wandered around North Brooklyn looking for, you guessed it, the perfect vintage sofa. I had just moved into a new apartment and was anxious to fill it to the brim with beautiful things. We walked through Greenpoint—the home to many rotating instagram-vintage showrooms and storefronts packed to the brim with Mid-Century finds. I scoffed at the price tags of $4500 aged tan leather sofas, he scoffed when he learned I was 25. We had Cheetahritas (a corona with a margarita floater) at a bar called Goldies. There was not a second date.
In my time in New York, I’ve owned three couches—a hand-me-down DWR futon, a 10-ft long pink showstopper, and a black linen daybed that I found on Instagram. I have been on countless first dates, and have interviewed even more sofas for the coveted spot in my living room.
And even though the first 40 year-old was an accident, after many lackluster evenings with comedians and bankers in their late twenties and early thirties, I was told to widen my search. In doing so, I became totally fascinated by the half your age plus seven rule—so much so that my friend Eliza wrote about it for Maude’s content platform. Its origins date back to a French author’s 1901 book for calculating the ideal age of a bride for an older man of nobility. Gross. I guess though, if we apply that same logic to couch ownership and work backwards, I should be looking for a couch from the 1980s.
I’ve already owned the perfect couch; which I purchased from Dobbin Street just months before the pandemic started. It was so large that it took the owner of the vape shop below my apartment, the mover I had hired, AND the two men who sold me the couch to get it in the front door. However when I moved from my uncharacteristically large Williamsburg apartment into a 650 sq. ft. “studio” last year the couch could no longer be a part of the equation. It would’ve suffocated the space. You know what they say: if you love something, sell it to your coworker.
And recently, I’ve started to think that maybe my current sofa (the pink sofa’s replacement) is just too young for me. Handbuilt in the early aughts, it is a low flat daybed that is essentially backless (a suitable silhouette for a dress but not for a couch) and is complete with a stiff bolster pillow and a bookcase on its side that provides minimal support but a place to set books and things. Almost immediately after setting it up in my new apartment, I started the hunt for its replacement. I waffle between ease, age, and price; it’s like I’m hungry and don’t know what I’m in the mood for. So I traipse around Brooklyn, usually with the last night's 2.5 martinis still buzzing in my head, and I set out to find something that's worth bringing home with me.
It’s not so different with dating—leaving one couch for another, something fits in our life and then it doesn’t. So we give it up, or it falls apart and then we start looking for something else, all while comparing the cushions to ghosts of daybeds past.
From friends, I often hear, “I would never buy a used couch. What’s wrong with it? Where has it been?” For the purposes of my jokes, perhaps the same queries we have while buying vintage furniture apply as we adjust the age settings on our dating apps. He’s 38 and single, what’s wrong with him? Where has he been? We wander around making sure the legs of various chairs rest evenly on the ground, asking ourselves: is this couch a widower? Was it the tragic victim of a long distance relationship? Is its previous owner now just seeing other people? And what could possibly be hiding under the cushions?
Maybe this is why the single man’s grey West Elm / Crate&Barrel / Room&Board couch perpetually reigns supreme—it’s a safe default, that will not thrill you but certainly get the job done. Not only have I owned a couch matching this very description, it turns out, I’ve gone on many dates with grey sofas as well. There is a reason these are solid fixtures in the homes of so many, but I often wonder if they stand the test of time. I find, despite the comfort of a lifetime warranty, they tend to lack depth and intrigue. And given their rampant presence on facebook marketplace and hinge—it’s clear I’m not the only one who feels this way.
I guess I should return to the point of all this—vintage or new? Is a storied past with an unchangeable patina better than a floor model that can be found in the lobby of an Equinox? Can you find your perfect couch new or old on an app that Mark Zuckerberg or someone else from Silicon Valley owns? Between the instagram furniture dealers, and the DMs, and facebook ads—my guess is probably yes. But, if you need me, I’ll be wandering around Brooklyn standing with my hands on my hips holding a tape measure caught somewhere between someone’s lightly-used Goop for CB2 collection sofa and a sturdy green velvet couch with an obvious cigarette burn and stories to tell.
if you are looking for a sofa, vintage or otherwise
When it comes to furniture, there are different degrees of antiquity: grandmother's attic, always-in classics, cool again vintage, 10-year itch trends, and not-actually-vintage-just-previously-sat-on. Some ways to get started:
Curation is key: My internet-friend-turned-actual-friend Madison runs an account called @ilovecraigslist where she curates finds from craigslist in NY & LA. She has impeccable taste and does the dirty work for you. I also love the newsletter called Chuko News which pulls from FB marketplace and auction sites centered in NY and SF.
Know that just because it's vintage doesn’t mean it's cheaper: a common misconception is that it will be cheaper because it is old. This is wrong. But listen, not only is it likely better made—it has been around the sun more times and will certainly outlive anything that comes from Wayfair.
You cannot change a man, but you can change a sofa: Know a good frame when you see it, a lot is possible with fresh fabric and new stuffing. It will cost you but if done right it can be magic. My cousins Annie & Maggie are masters at the art of reupholstery (among many other things)—taking classic vintage bodies and breathing new life for their brand Forsyth Art (as president of their fan club, you’ll hear me talk about them a lot). Plus, they’ve got a killer weekly email called Saturday Marnin’ Cartoons, you should sign up.
sloppy secondhand
I have at least one if not three martinis a week, and significantly more wine. In this section of the newsletter, I’ll pick a favorite vintage spot & a local watering hole—maybe you’ll find a new-to-you sofa or a new-to-you man. All I can promise is perhaps some promiscuity and a little credit card debt.
Horseman Antiques—please hydrate before you go. It is 5+ floors that take you through every decade. Can be pricey but is good for inspo. Across the street is Humble House which packs a small footprint with a lot of treasures.
June Wine Bar—just a quick 10 min walk from Horseman. It is the older sister of tinned-fish haven Rhodora. Everything is good, the bartenders are hot, and if it’s summer there is a chic backyard to get a little wine-drunk in.
Adding these to a instagram guide here and will update as we go.
5 things on my mind or in my cart.
At Domino we had a column called 10 things where we asked cool people to curate beautiful things, places, inspirations. I’m giving you 5.
The color pink—I just got back from 5 days in Paris (guide here), while there, I went to a breathtaking gallery called Perrotin which served as some real inspiration for the upcoming project to paint my bedroom. Despite the many obituaries to Millennial Pink in the last couple years, I cannot help but gravitate towards anything pink-hued—from a bubblegum to a mauve.
A witty book about kleptomania—I bought a second copy (because I gave the first I owned away) of David Horvitz’ How to Shoplift Books from my absolute favorite spot in Paris, Yvon Lambert Galerie. (A must if you are visiting—it’s where I bought my Charles+Ray Eames poster that hangs above my bar.)
A chair throw to throw on chairs—I saw this blanket in a gift guide and cannot stop thinking about it. I’ve argued with roommates in the past about owning too many chairs—maybe this is a good solve?
Patterned showers—I am fever-dreaming about ripping out my tub and reorienting my bathroom so that there’s an amazing shower alcove. Deeply unrealistic budget wise but will not stop me from mood-boarding.
Ridiculously thin stemware spotted in Paris—I sort of hate the traditional martini glass, it's a little cumbersome and given that my nickname as a child was Spilly Lily it is not ideal for my severe lack of hand eye coordination. However, I’ve been lusting after something delicate for martinis. I stumbled upon this truly remarkable Japanese atelier in Paris while walking from one bookstore to the next and found (deeply out of my price range) COLD TEA glasses, chic. Along with better priced but somehow less practical hand-blown champagne/wine glasses at Centre Commercial, more chic.
Until next time.
x
Currently sitting on my $400 50s Henredon blue velvet sofa 😎 it is down filled, and I love it.