Dear Lisette,
I love Ikea with a burning, endless passion, the way only a
recent college graduate can love a bargain home goods store.
Ikea makes me feel like a functioning human adult. When I
buy a desk chair for $20, I know that I am becoming a more mature person.
Likewise, the presence of six tiny spoons (purchased for the low, low price of
$2.99) is a symbol of my newfound responsibility. It doesn’t matter that the
desk chair is bright green and made of plastic, or that I’ve never used the
tiny spoons. Their mere existence in my apartment makes me a grownup,
goddammit!
Ikea seduces me with organization. When I’m in the store, I
truly believe that a bookshelf/desk combo (only $100!) will drastically improve
my life. Like having a place to put all my shit will magically solve all my
problems. I will no longer forget homework assignments, flake on my friends, or
avoid doing my laundry and cleaning a bathtub. As a sit on the floor, assembling my beloved
bookshelf/desk combo with only my trusty Allen wrench, I know, deep in my heart
that this one piece of furniture holds the power to transform me from a lazy,
unmotivated dog walker into an efficient productive graduate student.
Ha. Like any of this is ever going to happen. But while I’m
wandering the circuitous paths through bedrooms, kitchens, and offices, I can
help but feel this way. I keep going back for the rush.
Plus those meatballs are fucking delicious.
Love,
Gena
This is exactly how I feel about Ikea.
ReplyDeleteAlso, when I watched Let the Right One In (a great movie - watch it if you haven't), I was like, oh. Ikea isn't innovative. It's just really, really Scandinavian. :)