I ordered a bookcase a few months ago from a fancy store, and now my mailbox is filled with House Porn. Catalog after catalog of dining rooms the size of restaurants, filled with impossibly clean matching furniture, decorative objects, carpets so fluffy you might become lost in them, and art whose sole purpose is to provide something in the room with one spot of color that matches your decorative candelabra/ottoman/monogrammed seat cushions.
My home could look like this if I gave a designer my entire income and took an apartment somewhere else where I could actually store my stuff and LIVE.
These idealized, posh interiors remind me of a photo essay I read about, which appeared to be a collection of candid portraits of families in their excessively furnished houses, but the odd thing was that price tags were hanging from every surface. The photos were actually of artists who would sneak into Ikea and other shops in their pajamas and pose for photos while tucking their kids into the model beds in the model bedrooms when the staff were distracted; they would bring coffee mugs and newspapers and pose in the kitchens as if they lived there, etc., and after the photo shoot, would leave before anyone noticed.
I would probably feel like I was sneaking in somewhere I didn't belong if my house looked exactly like the Crate & Barrel catalog homes do.
