'Dogzilla' and other domestic oddities

During the pandemic, I had lots of wild ideas bordering on the creative. One of them? I would make the most ridiculous skits using a persona I invented (think oversized glasses and an embarrassing snort), teaching people about how to stay safe. It was over-the-top cheesy humor and you won’t find the footage available anywhere today because I deleted every last trace in a fit of self-preservation.

Another idea was to make a series of apartment tours—starting with my own. Not because my place is particularly impressive—it’s not—but because nearly every object in it has a backstory and a reason for being there. Some are interesting. Some are just excuses for why I haven’t thrown things away.

The original plan was to make it Parisian chic. Instead, it ended up being more of a mishmash of items, with a retro slant. A friend who stayed with me said that it reminded her of an aging Broadway star’s flat. I’ve chosen to believe she meant it as a compliment.

What I like most is how absolutely nothing in here matches, yet it all somehow coexists. My curtains came from the set of Man in the High Castle, a show I worked on. I had spent weeks trying to find something that would hang from the cursed curtain rail system that came with the unit. Then these appeared at a set sale, and I thought it was meant to be. I just hope they come from the home of the ‘good guys’ on the show…and not the, you know who. During the same set sale, I picked up a very weathered-looking Plato book. I think it might be the original.

Then there are the two hand-painted figurines—a chubby dog and cat—stationed like sentries on either side of my art deco TV stand. I found them in Mexico, sold by an artist who looked like he might also sell other, special substances.

Above my fireplace sits the crown jewel: a large print called Dogzilla, also from another Mexican artist. It features a beaming, flame-spewing dog terrorizing a crowd of panicked cartoon scaredy-cats. As a dog person, this piece speaks to me at my very core. It looks a bit like a shrine, flanked by an incense holder from Japan, some dried flowers from my sister’s wedding, and a sculptural, puzzle-like wooden menorah. Also a mysterious film canister.

And then…candles. So many candles. At some point I realized nice candles made me feel calm, like a person with a handle on life. So I bought one. Then six. I’ve got local candles, fancy candles, a candle from Budapest, one from Paris, and so on. My life didn’t get more organized but it’s nice to believe in illusions from time to time.

I’ve been collecting perfumes as of late too. It began with an obsession over Tom Ford’s Bitter Peach. When it was sold out, I tracked it like a bounty hunter. That led to a green apple phase—but not just any green apple scent, I was scouring specifically the scent of my grandmother’s shampoo from my childhood. I later learned that this is a tricky scent to capture because it’s a top note, meaning it disappears faster than a tax refund. Naturally, I soon took a perfume-making class in Grasse, France—the perfume capital of the world—because when you're chasing childhood smells, there’s no such thing as too far. I bottled up my creation with love. But this wasn’t enough, so then I proceeded to buy quite a few others there, and also one in the most spectacular atelier in Saint Paul de Vence. The shop girl told me it smelled like me: sophisticated chic. (She’s good at her job).

Following in the footsteps of Marilyn Monroe, I wear them to bed.

But back to furniture.