interior envy

 in one of my past lives, i was most certainly an interior designer. a very rich, very well connected interior designer. probably one who actually didn’t need to have a real career because my husband was a wealthy investment banker and i really just needed a hobby and all of my friends southampton homes needed decorating (i basically just reiterated the plot for blue jasmine). i say this because if unleashed, the cumulative price of the objects in my ideal living room would equal what i could only hope to earn in 10 years time (i’m looking at you, abc carpet & home). so when i peruse the home tours featured in elle decor, it both confuses and depresses me that these homes are not my homes. it doesn’t make sense that i’m not living in cynthia rowley’s beautifully curated/funky fresh west village town home. life is really a bitch…





this outdoor space. this. outdoor. space. this outdoor space? repeating that multiple times with different inflections is not helping me cope with the fact that it’s not my outdoor space.


Cynthia Rowley posing with her family

bow down, bitches.

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