The Gray Sectional

I sat down at the computer today, having no idea what I wanted to write about. My mind was almost completely blank. I'm still recovering from the dissertation, and it's been a long day. A long, gray, wet day. But I have some guilty pleasures, and one of them is looking at decorating websites. On one, Apartment Therapy, I found a post asking for advice. The poster wanted to find a gray sectional (that's a type of sofa) for around $2000. And my inner voice immediately said, are you joking? You're going to spend $2000 on a sofa?

I think when I was younger, I would have considered it all right to spend that sort of money on a sofa. At least, I wouldn't have questioned it. Society valued certain sofas at that price, and some people were willing to pay.

But now, I can't help it, I think there is something deeply distasteful about spending that sort of money. On a sofa. I think what happened, in part, was that my relationship with material goods changed. As I grew older (and I'm not, you know, all that old), it seemed increasingly silly to accumulate stuff. Or to decorate in the way everyone was supposed to decorate – a way that involved sectionals. (Which is an ugly word, isn't it?)

The older I get, the more what we do to follow social conventions seems silly. The more conventions themselves seem silly. (For example, the conventional way we decorate rooms.)

But there are two other reasons why it's a problem to spend $2000 on a sofa. First, if you spend that amount of money, what are you going to do to that sofa? Nothing, that's what. You're going to sit on it very carefully. You're not going to reupholster it. You're probably not even going to make pillows for it. You will instead buy pillows from some other expensive store. There will be nothing of you in that sofa except your money. And buying everything is a boring way to live. Second, there are so many things you could do with $2000. If I had that much money to spend on anything, I would probably publish a book, or create a video, or make something. Anything. But make, create. Go and commit art. (Or, if I couldn't think of anything else to do with it, donate it to a shelter for rescued cats.)

This has turned into a rant, hasn't it?

At this point, I may as well show you the offending beast:

Perhaps I wouldn't be so rant-y if it weren't monstrously sprawled in a rather pretty space. Like a whale in a drawing room. (Except that whales are considerably more attractive.)

I suppose over time I've developed an idea of how to live, which I would describe in these words: Live Small, Think Large.

If you live a fairly modest life, if you're thrifty, you can use your resources to create magnificent things, to make magnificent things happen. And you don't need to give up aesthetic pleasure. I'm not sure why, but in our culture, the most beautiful things are often also the cheapest. A chair in an antiques store. A peach from a farm stand.

There are things, material things, that are worth $2000. They are worth that amount of money because they are great works of art. Even certain sofas are worth that much. Just not this one.

Rather than buying a sofa like that, I would scatter pillows on the floor. And sit on them with friends, eating bread and cheese, drinking wine. Talking about the books we want to write . . .

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