Raising a Glass

October 14th, 2009

Although I am far from a minimalist, I am not someone who enjoys Stuff. I purge my closet (too) frequently, I hate clutter, I strive for tidy and organized spaces. (Strive = constantly stacking and re-stacking things on coffee table; obsessively wiping down kitchen floor with Method wipes) I am not a gadget person. I don’t collect anything. And I hate shopping.

Less than a philosophy I’d say my minimalist tendencies are a result of inertia and status quo: I am all about making do. Sure, it would be nice to have a food processor/coffee maker/full length mirror/iron/curtains on living room windows/pair of rain boots/drawer dividers in the bathroom/new lip gloss but whenever I start to think how useful those items might be, I swing right back to, ‘Eh, but I’ve been doing fine without them’ (up for debate: the full length mirror). “Eh” is a powerful argument. “Eh” is hard to top. “Eh” usually wins.

“Eh” coupled with the 300 square feet that was my last apartment meant that when I left my Brooklyn condo, I did not take much. I took just enough to Make Do, and then I bought six green bowls at Anthropologie. The end. I gradually furnished myself with additional odds and ends (a rug! a replacement for the 2qt saucepan I missed so much! a toaster!) but my distaste for Stuff and general belief that there are only five kitchen essentials (chef’s knife, Microplane zester, 4qt saucepan, one big fry pan, wooden spoons) plus the fact that our current kitchen is OHMYGOD SO VERY SMALL has kept me far away from Bed, Bath & Beyond and the like.

But there was something else going on. I hate to even write this down but somehow, somewhere I got the notion in my head that: “That’s What You Do When You Get Married.” As if anything I bought pre-marriage was disposable and that post-marriage I was supposed to exist in some sort of spartan purgatory with my refugee silverware and four plates. It’s bullshit. Total bullshit. Even so, the idea of furnishing a home for myself seemed frivolous.

Which is not to say, Hey! Everyone go buy a $300 stand mixer! but rather that gift registries are not where kitchens are born and if I need a toaster or new mattress or if I want bright green towels despite the faded grey ones working just fine, I can buy a toaster or a mattress or bright green towels. There is no minimum occupancy for a home: if you live somewhere, you have a home. And you should be comfortable in it, whatever that means. If you live alone, you are just as entitled to steak knives as the newlyweds among us. If you and your roommates want to have a martini party, buy the damn martini glasses. If you happily live with your partner out of wedlock, you can still have nice things. They just might not come with wrapping paper.

A friend of mine is moving out of an apartment she’s shared with a roommate and into a sweet little space of her own, and when she told her roommate the news, the roommate understood but then started to panic as she realized that most of their Stuff belonged to my friend. “But what if I need to BLEND something?” she asked. “Well,” my friend answered, “Aside from the fact that I’ve never seen you actually use our blender, you’d probably do what I did: go to the store and buy a blender. They are $50. You’ll be okay.”

Independence is not the same as spending power and I hold to my Less Is More mantra of home furnishings (my rule: if something comes home with me, it should either perform a critical job or be something I love.) (I have broken that rule more than once, like for a coat rack which I now loathe and which does a job, sure, but is hardly essential when you consider that we have a coat closet and that coat racks become blights once they are actually covered in coats and so now that coat rack has created more of a problem than it solved and every time I look at it, I get angry.) but I think it’s ultimately unhealthy to live in a state of permanent temporariness. Which is not a thing, I know, but living in tiny rental apartments or with roommates can sometimes fuck with your head and make you feel as if you’re in limbo and that should never be the case. Live where you live. Get what you need. Enjoy it.

Building a home with someone is a privilege for which I am thankful, every single day. I love coming home at night. I don’t mean to sound preachy and I don’t mean to sound smug. Building a home, period, is an essential delight, and it’s never the wrong time to start doing so. I remember a friend telling me, when I debated whether to buy four plates or eight after moving into my studio apartment, “Just get four; you’re going to end up moving in with a guy eventually and you’ll get new stuff.” On the one hand, she was right (I did move in with a man; ironically our dishes used to be hers as she moved in with new roommates who provided a fully stocked kitchen) but on the other hand, I really hate the “Wait until you are living with someone before committing to anything because it’s all just temporary if it’s Just You” sentiment. (I am a hypocrite, by the way: D. lived with a roommate and had hideous black dishes that I absolutely considered to be temporary for him as there was NO WAY IN HELL they were making the move with us.)

I just bought eight new wine glasses, is the short version of this post. Just because I liked them. (And because I realized that if more than two wine-drinking people ever came over at the same time, we’d be unable to put out matching glasses.)

Entry Filed under: General