What do we do now that the era of doomscrolling is (at least temporarily) over? Truth be told, I don’t expect to stop gazing at my phone in a nearsighted haze anytime soon, but I think the difference is that I’ll really enjoy it now. In recent years, my fascination with kitsch has been polished anew, probably as a defense against the bluntly grotesque aesthetics of Dictator Chic, and its uniquely American counterpart, the creepy fixation on Federal-style architecture. Hopefully that will fade into obsolescence once the First Cat is sworn in, and a Cardboard Mandate is enacted by executive order.
In a way, the Federal obsession is more frightening to me than the gilt-plastic garbage of Dictator Chic because it echoes the look and feel of 1990 film adaptation of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, in which plaid upholstery, Windsor chairs, and duck decoys provided an uncanny tableaux of Americana for the power brokers of the new totalitarian state. Like the cringeworthy Mega-McMansion of a former Cabinet member or Senator, visions of Dystopic Americana are more disturbing for those of us on this side of the Atlantic than the opulence of a Putin-esque manse, because the familiar made frightening is more unsettling than the simply foreign. An authentic version of American Dictator Chic would probably include a painted sign that reads “Live, Laugh, Love” or “Friends Gather Here” tacked up near the $300,000 stove. Perhaps with a bit of glitter still clinging to it.
Need respite from this vision? SAME. I follow more design feeds on Instagram than I can count, but there are a few standouts that I can highly recommend for a bit of escapism, or optimism-scrolling, if you will.
I adore Conversation Pits. The oft-shared image of the Eero Saarinen-designed Miller House in Columbus, Indiana (with heavenly interiors by Alexander Girard) is my personal dream house, but this feed offers even more food for architectural thought. The mostly vintage conversation pits on view here come in every conceivable color and physical configuration, some with cozy midcentury fireplaces, others charged with the electric glamour of portable appliances from the 70s. There’s lots of purple, and sometimes you’ll find pets lounging in furry splendor on carpeted surfaces that seem to go on forever. I can’t think of anything better, personally.
If you remember the 1980s and have feelings about reflective surfaces, pastels and right angles, and products from Think Big, you’ll probably enjoy Cocaine Decor, which is essentially “Miami Vice” in Instagram form. There’s also a Twitter feed that has even more content. You will never feel deprived of shiny black walls, birds of paradise, or lucite again.
Rich & Russian isn’t just about interiors (nor is the content exclusively, or even mainly Russian) but the homes they do post are choice. So is the ephemera.
I’m not sure I could have made it through 2020 without Cats of Brutalism, which is exactly what you’d imagine it to be: Brutalist buildings and gigantic cats thereon, all rendered in chic black and white. What’s genius about the image mashups is that the buildings actually resemble real life cat scratchers. They’re pyramids, or giant blocks, and if they were all about 18 inches high, they’d be perfect spots on which to perch, sleep face down, hide, shred, or simply stare. I don’t know the human who runs the account, but they have my gratitude.
Here’s to a rather subdued Thursday, friends.
cheers,
Sarah
LOVE this. Great writing.